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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28737117">blooming day</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/xuyue/pseuds/xuyue'>xuyue</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Haikyuu!!</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Asian-American AU, Asian-American Reader, F/M, Getting Together, Identity Issues, Sexual innuendos, seijoh 4 are reader's friend group</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 13:08:55</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>24,802</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28737117</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/xuyue/pseuds/xuyue</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>when your dad hires one miya osamu to be the new cook at your struggling family restaurant, you waste no time making an absolute fool of yourself in front of him. </p><p>but as time passes, you find yourself increasingly drawn to the boy who seems too good to be true and soon, your relationship blossoms into something else entirely.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Miya Osamu/Reader</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>93</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. monday (星期一)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>crossposted from my <a href="http://stelleum.tumblr.com/">tumblr</a></p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When your father tells you that he’s hired a new cook for his restaurant, you have an immediate mental image of the new employee; middle-aged and probably balding, with enough hair on his chest to make up for the latter. Likely with a smoking habit and a slight beer gut, not unlike the rest of the kitchen staff. </p><p>“I think you’ll like him,” he says cryptically from his place on the couch. The Japanese news is on and you can only understand about half of the story, but the accompanying video footage helps to fill in some of the blanks.</p><p>“What do you mean?”</p><p>He just shrugs and you turn back to the television. You don’t know enough Japanese to push the subject further so you just don’t. It probably just means he’s missing a hand or something. Maybe he tells interesting stories about said missing hand, too. Either way, you shrug it off and turn to your phone because Hanamaki has sent you a string of texts about the genetics assignment he didn’t do and he’s finally put up something juicy on the table in exchange for help; two large brown sugar milk teas with tapioca.</p><p>You get up from the couch to prop open your laptop on the dining room table. The screen flickers to life and you find the notes on complementation with a bit of lag; it’s not surprising considering your computer is around six years old but you’re not really in the position to be looking for a replacement so you figure it’ll just have to do until the end of undergrad.</p><p>You forward the notes to him and let him know so, reminding him of his promise with a few well placed knife emojis for effect.</p><p>The night ends without much fanfare and you go to bed with half a dozen alarms set on your phone to ensure you’re up in time for your 9 AM lecture. You forget entirely about your father’s comment, which isn’t surprising since you never gave it much thought to begin with.</p><p>-</p><p>A tall shadow casts over your usual seat at the restaurant the next day. You finish typing up a sentence on the mouse as a model system in biology before looking up to face the sudden intrusion.</p><p>“Hi, can I—?” you begin, but your blunt line of questioning is immediately cut off because you’re promptly stunned into silence. There’s a stupidly amused smile on the stupidly attractive face of the man hovering above you and you know immediately then that you’re fucked. At least for the duration of this interaction. Yes, massively fucked.</p><p>“Hey,” he grins. “You work here, right?”</p><p>Your mouth has gone suspiciously dry now and your hand fumbles for the plastic water bottle you could’ve sworn was just to your right a second ago.</p><p>“Uh,” you manage to utter as your fingers grasp the soft plastic.</p><p>“<em>Uh?</em>” he parrots, tilting his head before repeating his question in Japanese.</p><p>“<em>Uhh</em>,” you say again, running your thumb over the ridges of the bottle’s cap. Your gaze darts to the hostess stand where Hinata usually sits, fiddling on his phone but he’s conveniently absent at this time.</p><p>“Or do you not work here?” he asks, this time in English. You detect the slightest hint of an accent but his demeanor is almost entirely Western.</p><p>“No, I work here,” you say, managing to finally unscrew the lid. “Kind of, I mean.”</p><p>The stranger’s face lights up and it almost gives you a heart palpitation. Your grip on the bottle tightens.</p><p>He holds out his hand and you stare at it for a second too long before finally coming to your senses and taking it. His hands are far from soft, but they’re warm and firm and much larger than yours.</p><p>“Nice to meet you,” he says, with a grin that raises the room’s temperature by at least ten degrees. “I’m Osamu, the new cook.”</p><p>Your father’s comment wiggles its way to the front of your mind and its meaning finally comes together like some sort of ominously attractive jigsaw puzzle. You look at where you’re currently physically contacting him and then at the other hand near his hip.</p><p>“But you have both hands,” you blurt out and Osamu’s eyebrows inch an impressive distance up his forehead. There’s the shortest moment of blissful ignorance before the realization of what you’ve just said hits you.</p><p><em>Oh</em>, a voice in your brain says.</p><p><em>Oh no</em>.  </p><p>-</p><p>“Wait, you <em>actually</em> said that shit about his hands out <em>loud</em>?” Matsukawa jeers into his hot fudge sundae and you aim a swift kick at his shin. You miss.  </p><p>“Shut up, Issei,” you grumble as he licks a gob of chocolate from the corner of his mouth. It leaves behind an unsavoury brown stain on his skin that you’re probably not going to tell him about later. After all, life’s about the small victories. </p><p>You’re at McDonald’s for the second time this week, watching as your so-called best friends work their way through enough fast food to feed a children’s soccer team. The air reeks of chlorine and fries and for some unholy reason, you catch a glimpse of Hanamaki spooning a bit of his McFlurry on a chicken nugget. Scowling, you feel the sudden urge to stand up and leave the premises. Maybe even delete his number from your phone.</p><p>“How old is he?” Iwaizumi probes. A couple of sandwich wrappers are folded into uneven squares at his side.</p><p>You shrug, “I don’t know. Didn’t look any older than us.”</p><p>“Does he go to school here?”</p><p>“Doesn’t seem like it,” you say, propping your head up with an arm. The table is sticky. You promptly detach your elbow from it.</p><p>“So is it gonna be a thing?”</p><p>“Hiro, he’s technically my <em>employee</em>,” you quip, picking at the pile of fries on the tray in front of you. “You can’t get involved with employees.”</p><p>“Correction,” he replies, after swallowing a spoonful of ice cream. “You <em>shouldn’t</em> get involved with employees. And hey, that never stopped anyone.”</p><p>“Yeah,” Matsukawa chirps. “Like Arnold Schwarzenegger.”</p><p>“Or my mom’s coworker.”</p><p>“Or that guy from <em>The Sound of Music</em>.”</p><p>“That’s a <em>movie</em>, Issei.”</p><p>“A movie that’s based off of a true story,” Matsukawa shoots back knowingly and you frown.</p><p>“How do you even know that?”</p><p>“How do you <em>not</em> know that?”</p><p>You open your mouth a few times before closing it again. You don’t want to have this discussion right now.</p><p>“Do you think your dad would be okay with you dating him?” Iwaizumi asks, fiddling with the straw of his drink.</p><p>“Who said <em>anything</em> about <em>dating</em> him?” you exclaim, squishing the end of a fry between your forefinger and thumb. Soft white potato oozes from it sadly.</p><p>“You did. Up here,” Hanamaki adds gently, tapping the side of his temple. You roll your eyes.</p><p>“Aw, I didn’t know you could read minds now, Takahiro. Are all those pool chemicals turning you into a mutant?”</p><p>He snorts. “I <em>wish</em>. Then I wouldn’t be stuck here with you guys. I could be saving the world or something.”</p><p>“Anyways,” Matsukawa tacks on. “We spend just as much time in the pool and <em>we’re</em> not mutants. If anything, Tooru would be the mutant. He stayed behind at practice today to do a few more laps.”</p><p>“What an idiot,” Iwaizumi snorts. “He’s going to overwork himself and then have to sit out at the next meet.”</p><p>You fold your paper straw wrapper in halves. You still don’t know how you’d gotten yourself so involved with a good fraction of the university’s swim team. Initially, you had only been friends with Hanamaki after you’d been paired together for a geology project in a first year earth sciences course you had only taken for the credit. One thing had led to another and soon you were dragged into their friendship circle like the fifth point in their pentagram of assignment procrastination and occasional binge drinking.</p><p>“Man, we should’ve just went to your dad’s,” Hanamaki gripes. “He always gives us extra stuff for free.”</p><p>You roll your eyes. “Yeah, don’t think I’d be joining you guys for that,” you remark.</p><p>“We know,” Matsukawa sighs. “That would’ve been the best part.”</p><p>“<em>Wow</em>.”</p><p>“Plus we could’ve scoped out the subject of your future HR nightmare,” he adds, smirking around the straw of his diet coke.</p><p>“First of all,” you say, pointing a used plastic spoon at him. Droplets of melted soft serve fly through the air. “We’re a small family-owned business, meaning we don’t <em>have</em> an HR department.”</p><p>“Second of all, I’m not going to do anything that <em>would</em> warrant the involvement of HR in a regular workplace setting. He probably has a girlfriend or something anyway.” And you were pretty confident in the last part, too. After all, one couldn’t possibly live life looking like <em>that</em> and still be single.</p><p>The three of them exchange a Look. You narrow your eyes because you’re not sure if it’s the ‘<em>we’re totally going to meddle with your love life</em>’ Look or the ‘<em>you have the sex appeal of a worm on a string so it wouldn’t matter if you tried anything</em>’ Look. For your sanity, you hope it’s not the former.</p><p>“Please don’t,” you sigh, dropping the spoon onto the grease-soaked tray liner.</p><p>“Please don’t what?” Iwaizumi asks, feigning ignorance. What a shame, you think. He was always the worst at lying out of all of them.</p><p>“We’re not gonna do anything,” Hanamaki pipes up with a grin. There’s sweet and sour sauce under his nails and a glint in his eye that triggers your fight or flight instincts.</p><p>“You guys are horrible.”</p><p>Matsukawa chuckles and you wonder if it’s too late to find a new group of friends. Since you’re in the third year of your degree, it may very well be, but anything would be better than the future humiliation you were being promised in this very moment.</p><p>“Don’t worry,” he says, leaning in. You resist the urge to smear a gob of ketchup right on the tip of his nose.</p><p>“You’ll be thanking us later for sure.”</p><p>-</p><p>More often than not, the restaurant is empty for a good hour before the official closing time. It’s very rare to get stragglers and while it doesn’t bode well for business, you’re grateful for the time it gives you to start cleanup early.</p><p>The dining room (and everywhere else) is a modest size, so it never takes you long, but there’s just something satisfying about getting the fuck out of there as fast as you can so you make it your mission to do so for every closing shift.</p><p>Tonight, you’re halfway through wiping down all the tables when something clatters loudly behind you, causing you to drop the spray bottle of disinfectant. You whirl around to face the source of the intrusion and lock eyes with Osamu, who has both hands in the air and a bucket of dirty dishes at his feet.</p><p>“Sorry!” he calls out, leaning down to pick up the container by its handles again.</p><p>You grab the dropped bottle and straighten up. You hadn’t seen him all night, but you’d heard him conversing with your dad and the other cook on shift in quick, uninterrupted Japanese. Only half of what they said made sense to you but it wasn’t like you were trying to eavesdrop on their conversation anyway. However, from the sound of it, he spoke the language with an odd twang that your dad didn’t have. Probably some kind of regional accent.</p><p>“You don’t have to,” you say quickly as he loads the dishes onto a cart. “I usually take the dishes to the back at the end of the night anyway.”</p><p>He wipes his hands on the grease-stained apron still tied around his waist. A simple action like that shouldn’t be attractive, it really really shouldn’t, but for some ungodly reason it is. You feel yourself redden from a combination of witnessing this and then overthinking the fact that you’ve witnessed this. You are indeed your own worst enemy.</p><p>“It’s fine,” he says, winning smile and all. Is there no mercy? “I’m already out here anyway. Plus there’s uh, there’s not much to do right now.”</p><p>You spray some disinfectant on the nearby table and begin wiping circles with the rag. “Yeah, you should get used to that,” you say dismissively.</p><p>“What d’you mean?” he frowns.</p><p>“I mean,” you say, rubbing a soup stain out of the lacquered wood. “It’s pretty dead here a lot of the time. If you’re looking to work somewhere exciting, you applied to the wrong place.”</p><p>He grips the cart with one hand. “I think it’s been pretty exciting so far,” he remarks. “Your dad’s been teaching me like half the menu today.”</p><p>You make a noncommittal noise.</p><p>“No one here sucks so far,” he adds as if it’s something meaningful. And if it is, well, the bar is in hell for him then.</p><p>“Glad you don’t think I suck,” you say dryly.</p><p>He gives you a crooked smile. “<em>So far</em>.”</p><p>There’s a pause then as he searches your face for a reaction to what he’s just said. You force yourself to hold out for a moment, just to watch the panic flicker behind his eyes before grinning back at him.</p><p>“We’ll see,” you say, spraying the next table over, “how you feel about me by the time you stop working here.”</p><p>“Oh?” he says, tilting his head. Something glimmers under the light and you realize it’s a polished silver earring, partially obscured by the mess of dark hair. “I think I’m pretty interested to see how I’ll feel too.”</p><p>And with this, you’ve reached your limit. Heart pounding against your ribcage, you turn away and pretend to focus on a non-existent stain with the rag. This—whatever <em>this</em> was—was too much too soon and it was almost inevitable that you would make a fool of yourself within the next five minutes.</p><p>“So,” you say, clearing your throat. Like you weren’t just borderline flirting with him ten seconds ago and are now too flustered to continue. Nope, that isn’t you at all. “Why did you choose to apply here anyway?”</p><p>Thankfully he takes the conversation’s change of pace in stride. “Well, I’m pretty sure you know this,” he begins. “But this is probably one of the best places in Japantown. The food here’s authentic and I—not to sound like I’m sucking up or anything—but I want to learn from the best  and your dad—”</p><p>“<em>My</em> dad?” you snort. “No, my dad isn’t…he’s not…”</p><p>He raises an eyebrow. “Your dad’s not what?”</p><p>You glance around at the empty restaurant, at the pile of sticky, unused menus and dusty paper lanterns hanging over each table. There’s something hollow about it all that makes it difficult for you to take his comment seriously.</p><p>After all, even if Osamu was right, how come it didn’t show? How come you spent more time cleaning or looking over assignments for school than actually waiting tables some nights? There’s something depressing, you think, about an empty restaurant whose tacky neon signs and dinner special offers do nothing to draw customers in.</p><p>“Nothing,” you say, shrugging off the thought. “It’s nothing.”</p><p>Your eyes flit to the clock hanging above the register. It’s five minutes until closing but you walk the short distance to lock the door anyway. You flip the sign so it reads ‘closed’ and return to the mindless task of cleaning tables.</p><p>Osamu hangs around near the entrance to the kitchen as if he’s debating on saying something more to you.</p><p>You hold your breath.</p><p>“Hey,” he begins and you sigh internally, waiting for the patronizing dialogue about hard work and sacrifice. Hell, he might even include something about filial piety and respect to <em>really</em> drive the guilt home. But to your surprise, it never comes.</p><p>“Work hard, okay?” is what he settles with. “Don’t wanna be stuck here too late waiting up for you.”</p><p>You snort. “Big words for a newbie,” you say, rearranging a bottle of <em>shichimi</em>. “Bet I’ll be done way before you.”</p><p>“<em>Way</em> before me?”</p><p>“You know it.”</p><p>“Okay,” he says, leaning against the worn doorframe. “What are we betting?”</p><p>You roll your eyes. “<em>Nothing</em>,” you say. “We’re betting nothing, Osamu. Get back in the kitchen so I don’t have to wait for <em>you</em>.”</p><p>Laughing, he holds his hands up in surrender. “Alright, alright. Whatever you say, boss.”</p><p>You watch as he strides away, pulling the cart of dirty dishes along with him. You turn back to the room around you, empty once more, and let out a breath. Something in the back of your mind tells you then that one Miya Osamu was about to run your dignity into the ground. And that maybe, just maybe, you’d enjoy it the whole way through.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>current concern: i don't know how to use a pc<br/><a href="http:/twitter.com/iunaryear">twitter</a> | <a href="http://stelleum.tumblr.com/">tumblr</a></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. tuesday (星期二)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>crossposted from my <a href="http://stelleum.tumblr.com/">tumblr</a></p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Hello, waitress? We’ve been waiting a <em>very</em> long time for service. It’s been five whole minutes and we haven’t even gotten <em>water</em>.”</p>
<p>“Shut up, Hiro,” you snap, approaching the table of fools, who were doubled over in laughter like Hanamaki had just been channelling the spirit of John Mulaney himself.</p>
<p>“Now that’s no way to speak to a customer,” Matsukawa pipes up from the opposite side of the table. “Can we speak to your manager?”</p>
<p>You lean forward so that for once in your life you’re looking down at him. “Oh, Issei,” you sigh. “I <em>am</em> the manager.”</p>
<p>The group sans Matsukawa begin to snicker and even then, he can’t help but crack a smirk at your reply.</p>
<p>“Guess they’re just hiring anyone these days, eh?” he remarks.</p>
<p>“Guess so.”</p>
<p>“What a shame.”</p>
<p>“Is there a problem here?” a voice from behind you sounds, causing you to shoot upright in startled surprise. Osamu stands behind you, a bowl of <em>gyudon</em> balanced on the tray in his hands. There’s a slight crease in his brow as he assesses your table of friends, who have the gall to look even more smug than they did ten seconds ago.</p>
<p>“No,” you and Iwaizumi say at the same time.</p>
<p>“They’re just my stupid friends,” you add grudgingly, before introducing them. They each give him their best shit-eating grin and a wave, looking much too comfortable for a trio of oversized college students stuffed in a tiny restaurant booth.</p>
<p>“You must be Osamu,” Hanamaki says, will all the evil intent in the world.</p>
<p>“She’s talked a <em>lot</em> about you,” Matsukawa adds and you remind yourself to <em>accidentally</em> spill a glass of water on him later. Maybe several glasses on the whole table.</p>
<p>Osamu looks at you, amused, and you just shake your head like an idiot.</p>
<p>“They’re lying,” you blurt out.</p>
<p>“<em>Slander</em>,” Matsukawa interjects, faux-appalled. “We would never. Lying is bad for the soul.”</p>
<p>“You made Tooru believe I was pregnant for <em>two whole months</em> in first year,” you gripe. “He tried slipping me a <em>Babies R Us</em> gift card at school and told me how<em> brave</em> he thought I was.”</p>
<p>Hanamaki cackles.</p>
<p>“You’re looking great for a mom though,” Iwaizumi says, leaning back onto the worn, wooden back of the booth.</p>
<p>“Yeah,” the light brunet tacks on. “A real MILF.”</p>
<p>“You didn’t tell me you had a kid,” Osamu remarks in jest and your eyes flash to the idiots in front of you.</p>
<p>“Please don't indulge them,” you groan, gathering the menus from their table. “They can’t be allowed to think they’re funny.”</p>
<p>“We’re hilarious.”</p>
<p>“Keep telling yourselves that.”</p>
<p>You turn away from them to apologize to Osamu, who’s still standing there and observing the casual clowning you’re so used to being subjected to.</p>
<p>“Sorry,” you say. “Go enjoy your break. Preferably far away from these fools.”</p>
<p>He laughs. “I don’t mind, but before I go I wanted to ask you something.”</p>
<p>Behind you, Matsukawa makes a loud, thoughtful noise and you refrain from smacking him across the head with a menu.</p>
<p>“Yeah?” you ask, as casually as you can manage. It’s probably something about work or the restaurant. Something boring and definitely not worth the flutter in your chest you’d felt just now.</p>
<p>“How are you getting home tonight?”</p>
<p>“Bussing probably,” you say, making it a point not to look at the suddenly silent trio of fools beside you. “Dad says he needs to stay behind to do inventory tonight.”</p>
<p>“It’s gonna be raining later,” he mentions, almost offhandedly. “Thundering even. D’you want a ride?”</p>
<p>It takes a second for the question to fully sink in and when it finally does, all you can do is let out a weak laugh. Because what? What the fuck? Did he really just ask that?</p>
<p>Before you can come to your senses, someone else speaks up in your stead. “Yeah, that’d be great,” Hanamaki simpers, with absolutely zero volume control. “She’d love a ride. A ride on that—”</p>
<p>His sentence is cut off by a wheeze and you turn to find him hunched over like a banana with Iwaizumi’s elbow still lodged firmly into his side. You make a mental note to slip him a free dessert later.</p>
<p>“Yeah, sure,” you say, facing Osamu with a smile you’ve carefully constructed to hide the murderous intent you’re currently experiencing. “I’d really appreciate it.”</p>
<p>“Cool,” he says, thankfully paying the commotion behind you no mind. “See you later, then.”</p>
<p>He waves at the rest of the table in parting before taking a seat at the bar area and pulling out his phone.</p>
<p>“Damn,” Matsukawa says. “I get the hype now. If you mess this one up, we’re gonna clown you forever and I hope you know that.”</p>
<p>“Aren’t you guys determined to clown me forever, anyway?” you groan, but giddiness still causes your heart to thrum in a frenzy. Your hands are shaking, just a bit and you can’t help but smile like an idiot.</p>
<p>“Oh, of course,” Hanamaki says assuredly. “But this—” he says, gesturing vaguely in Osamu’s direction.</p>
<p>“—this is gonna be your greatest clown-worthy moment yet.”</p>
<p>Your first instinct is to come up with a biting comeback, but as you think it over, all that comes from you is a defeated sigh.</p>
<p>“I know,” you say in grudging agreement. Your stomach turns with the thought of making a fool of yourself yet again. In an enclosed space. Alone. With Osamu right beside you. Just imagining it was enough to cause another surge of adrenaline to race throughout your body.</p>
<p>“Hey,” Iwaizumi says. “It’ll be alright. Just text us if anything happens. Well, text me. Don’t text <em>them</em>.” He jabs a thumb at his companions.</p>
<p>“Yeah, okay,” you say, blowing a strand of hair out of your face. “Thanks, Hajime.”</p>
<p>“No problem,” he smiles. You always knew he was your favourite. “And one more thing.”</p>
<p>“Yeah?”</p>
<p>“Can we order now? I’m starving.”</p>
<p>-</p>
<p>True to Osamu’s word, the storm rolls in half an hour before closing. Flashes of lightning illuminate the tiny space and you swear you can feel the thunder reverberating under your feet. The lights flicker overhead as soon as you lock up and you pause to glance upward at them.</p>
<p><em>No</em>, you think, groaning inwardly. <em>Not this. Not now.</em> But as if the universe gives no fucks about what you want (and it doesn’t), the bulbs flicker twice more before going dark completely. The drink fridge near the register slowly whirrs to a stop and somewhere in the back, your dad barks out a rough expletive.</p>
<p>“Shit,” you mumble to yourself as you reach for the phone in your back pocket. You make your way to the bar area slowly, careful to avoid bruising your shins on any stray chair legs.</p>
<p>A ray of light appears from the kitchen doorway and you avert your eyes as it sweeps over your face.</p>
<p>“Hey,” Osamu says, lowering his phone. “You okay?”</p>
<p>“Yeah,” you say, sighing. Lightning flashes through the window, washing everything in blinding white. “Are you?”</p>
<p>“Yeah,” he replies. “Doing great.”</p>
<p>Turning your own phone’s flashlight on, you make your way to the now-black screen of the POS system.</p>
<p>“Well, this is horrible,” you deadpan.</p>
<p>“Why?” Osamu has followed you and is now hovering over the dark screen as well. His arm brushes against your shoulder and you freeze up, your focus pinpointing on that area alone.</p>
<p>“Are you afraid of the dark?” his voice is low and teasing, causing you to tense up even more than you thought possible.</p>
<p>“No,” you squeak out unconvincingly. “I mean,” you amend, clearing your throat, “no. I’m not scared of the dark. I just can’t— I mean <em>we</em> can’t get out of here if I don’t cash out properly.” You smack the side of the screen unhelpfully.</p>
<p>“Uh huh,” he says, just as close, just as dangerous. “I was going to say. Your dad’s gone out to see how far the power outage goes.”</p>
<p>“<em>What?</em>” you exclaim, snapping out of the odd spell he’d put you under. “It’s <em>pouring</em> out there, he can’t just—”</p>
<p>“He had an umbrella,” Osamu shrugs. You edge away from him and make your way to the glass-paned front door. Rain comes down in rivulets against the glass, obscuring your view of the street outside. The street lamps that had been lit just a few minutes ago had gone dark, blanketing the sidewalk in darkness. Panic settles in your chest and before you can think about it, your fingers are already reaching to undo the lock.</p>
<p>“Wait,” he calls out. “<em>You</em> don’t have an umbrella. You’re gonna get soaked.”</p>
<p>You pause.</p>
<p>“Well, what am I supposed to do?” you ask, whirling around to face the shadowy figure by the register. “What’s the <em>point</em> in going out in a storm like this? He never thinks things through, it’s so— it’s so— <em>ugh</em>.” You throw up your hands and walk to the nearest table to pull out a chair.</p>
<p>“Hey,” he sighs, taking the seat across from you. His hands settle on the table, just inches away from your own. “He’s an adult. He’s gonna be fine, okay? We just gotta wait for him to come back and it should be any minute now.”</p>
<p>You look down, staying silent. Something in your stomach pangs and you know it’s out of worry and the all-too-familiar feeling of uselessness. You catch a minute movement at the edge of your vision and before you can raise your head, you feel his fingers brush against yours. His touch is warm and careful and you hold your breath as you feel his hands settle over yours.</p>
<p>He clears his throat. “My, uh, my brother used to be afraid of the dark. And thunderstorms. And the bathroom ghost. So the idiot would crawl into my bed in the dead of night and scare the hell out of me when he woke me up,” he chuckles. “He’d insist on holdin’ my hand ‘cause he thought that’d keep the ghosts from dragging him away or somethin’”</p>
<p>“You have a brother?” you ask, a bit numbly.</p>
<p>“Yup,” he sighs. “A twin. He goes to the state university. Real pain in the ass, I hope you never have to meet him.”</p>
<p>You smile a bit at that.</p>
<p>“Are your parents, um,” you begin, curling your index finger. It brushes against his palm, causing his hand to twitch. “Do they live here?”</p>
<p>“Yeah,” he replies. “We all moved when ‘Tsumu and I were fifteen. Kind of a big change but,” he shrugs, “I’m here now.”</p>
<p>“I’ll bet,” you muse, thinking about Oikawa, who had also mentioned moving from Japan at a formative age. You could barely tell at first, but his accent often made an appearance after a night of drinking.</p>
<p>“How ‘bout you?” he questions, shifting in his seat. “What age’d you move here?”</p>
<p>“Oh, I…I was born here. I’ve been back a couple of times but, uh, never for long.”</p>
<p>Another strike of lightning sets the room ablaze.</p>
<p>“Ah.”</p>
<p>“So,” you say, still acutely aware of his touch. “Still okay with working here? It’s been a couple of weeks.”</p>
<p>He hums. “The work isn’t easy. But it’s fulfilling, y’know? Kinda makes me feel like I could do this forever.”</p>
<p>You raise a brow (not that he can see it). “You want to work <em>here</em> forever?” you ask in disbelief.</p>
<p>He laughs. “Well, maybe not <em>here</em>. But yeah, I think I want to cook for a living. I’m not too bad at it and I, uh, kinda want to have my own place someday. Like your dad.”</p>
<p>You roll your eyes and this time you’re thankful he can’t see that either. “Trust me. You don’t want to be like my dad,” you say, dismissively. “And the whole ‘having your own restaurant’ thing isn’t all that it’s cracked up to be too.”</p>
<p>“Oh, you think so?” There’s an amused edge to his voice that makes you think he doesn’t believe you.</p>
<p>“Yeah,” you reply. “It’s long hours, a lot of work, and it takes forever for the place to break even. And some places never do,” you scoff. “Plus there are no benefits.”</p>
<p>His thumb brushes against your knuckles. “Really? Because I can think of one benefit in working here.”</p>
<p>You pull your hands back at this, feeling a wave of heat rush up your neck and into your cheeks. You can handle it when you’re just talking about family or dead-end aspirations, but as much as you want to, you can’t handle it when he’s doing <em>this</em>.</p>
<p>Standing up, you clear your throat and make your way to the door again. “We should um— maybe we should call the power company. Get an estimate of how long it’ll take for it to come back on.”</p>
<p>There are a few seconds of silence then and you hold your breath.</p>
<p>“That,” Osamu begins, his tone imperceptible, “wouldn’t be the best move, I don’t think. They’re probably getting swamped with calls right about now.”</p>
<p>You realize he’s right but your nerves are so frayed from worry that you’re itching to do something—<em>anything</em>—to get a grasp of the situation right now.</p>
<p>“Hey, I’m on their Twitter right now,” he pipes up and you turn to find him on his phone, the eerie blue light of the device casted across his features. “Says they’re aware of the situation in our area and expect the power to be back on in the next half hour to forty-five minutes.”</p>
<p>“They have a Twitter?” you ask, but really, you shouldn’t have been so surprised. Especially not when you’d even seen Twitter accounts for people’s cats.</p>
<p>“Mhm,” he turns the screen towards you and you squint at the sudden brightness.</p>
<p>“Huh,” you say before he turns the device off and stuffs it back into his pockets.</p>
<p>There’s a clatter in the back and the unmistakable sound of the rear exit being shoved open. Your dad calls out from the back, his voice barely audible over the torrent of wind and rain from outside, and you both scramble towards the noise.</p>
<p>“See,” Osamu says jokingly as you turn the light on on your phone. “Told you he’d be perfectly fine.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, yeah,” you say, nudging him lightly with your elbow. “You’re always right.”</p>
<p>He laughs. “Glad you know it.”</p>
<p>-</p>
<p>The power comes back on exactly forty-three minutes after it had gone out and you realize then that it’s the happiest you’ve ever been to see the lit-up interior of the restaurant in your life. Admittedly, you rush through the cleanup and the cash-out process, determined to get out at an hour that wasn’t so ungodly.</p>
<p>Osamu must have the same idea because as soon as you finish putting the allotted cash amount in a marked envelope, he’s already standing at the register with a cap pulled low over his eyes and a ring of keys jangling off his forefinger.</p>
<p>“Ready to go?” he asks as you tuck the lip of the envelope in.</p>
<p>“Yeah,” you say. “Lemme just put this away in the back.”</p>
<p>He nods and you head to the back, where your dad is squatted on a short stool in front of the walk-in fridge.</p>
<p>You duck into the closet-sized office and place the money in the safe before grabbing your jacket off the hook on the door.</p>
<p>“I’m going with Osamu,” you say as you pass your dad, who’s scribbling numbers onto a clipboard on his knee.</p>
<p>“You’re going to Osamu-kun’s?” he asks, looking up to give you a mildly surprised look.</p>
<p>You resist the urge to roll your eyes. “No, <em>otosan</em>, he’s taking me home. In his car.”</p>
<p>“<em>Our</em> home?” he asks and you hum in an affirmative.</p>
<p>He grunts and you take it as permission to leave. As you near the front of the restaurant, you look back again and grimace; the entire back of his shirt is still damp from the rain and his greying hair shines with beads of water. You weren’t surprised that he hadn’t taken the time to dry off in the bathroom at all and had instead chosen to go back to work the moment the lights came back on.</p>
<p>Walking back to the front, you lean under the counter to grab a clean cup.</p>
<p>Osamu leans over the edge. “Thirsty or somethin’?”</p>
<p>“Just give me a sec,” you say, lowering a teabag into the cup. You fill from the hot water dispenser before shutting the machine off for the night and make your way to the back again.</p>
<p>“Dad?” you call out and he raises his head.</p>
<p>“Eh?” he replies. “Do you need money or something?” he asks in Japanese.</p>
<p>“There’s tea for you,” you say, holding up the cup to make it clear. “I’m leaving it in the kitchen. Drink it before it gets cold, okay?”</p>
<p>He regards you for a moment before nodding and waving you off.</p>
<p>“Go, go,” he says, continuing to count the bags of green beans on the shelf in front of him. “Have fun.”</p>
<p>“I—<em>dad</em>,” you groan. “He’s just taking me home, we’re not hanging out.”</p>
<p>“Eh?” he asks again, clearly not understanding what you’d just said.</p>
<p>“Nothing,” you call out, resigned. “See you at home.”</p>
<p>He hums and you turn to walk back to the front. Eyeing the figure leaning against the bar, you can’t help but notice the way his face lights up when he sees you’ve returned. Or maybe it’s a trick of the light. You don’t think you can ever be sure with him.</p>
<p>“Let’s go,” you say, reaching behind you to pull your hair tie off. A lock falls near the front of your face, obscuring your vision as you run your fingers through the rest of your hair to work it loose.</p>
<p>Brushing the strand aside, you look up to see Osamu with his mouth slightly parted.</p>
<p>“You’re staring,” you accuse, only half-serious.</p>
<p>“Huh?” he blinks before shaking his head. “No way, I wasn’t.”</p>
<p>You smirk, realizing you’ve hit your mark. “You totally were.”</p>
<p>“I totally <em>wasn’t</em>,” he argues as you walk towards the front entrance, pulling your own set of keys from the pocket of your jacket.</p>
<p>“Yeah, you were,” you singsong, leaning against the door to push it open. The rain has long stopped but the humidity of the early summer shower still hangs heavy in the air like a thick velvet curtain.</p>
<p>“I wasn’t <em>starin’</em>,” he emphasizes, leaning over you. You look up at him, catching an amused glint in his eye.</p>
<p>“I think it was more like admiring.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>current concern: i think i'm committing tax fraud<br/><a href="http:/twitter.com/iunaryear">twitter</a> | <a href="http://stelleum.tumblr.com/">tumblr</a></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. wednesday  (星期三)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Well,” you say, gripping the smooth weave of the seatbelt. “This is me.”</p>
<p>Osamu shifts the car into park and leans back into his seat. His headlights are the only thing illuminating the small space you’re in and even then, you can’t make out the expression from his shadowed side profile.</p>
<p>“This is you,” he says, tilting his head to glance in your direction.</p>
<p>You press the release on your seatbelt and bundle your jacket in your arm. Outside, a chorus of crickets breaks the quiet of the night. The rain has stopped and the pavement shines like polished silver under the streetlights.</p>
<p>If this was a normal situation where thoughts of the boy next to you <em>didn’t</em> send your mind into a panic, you would be reaching for the door’s handle and wishing him a good night. But it <em>wasn’t</em> a normal situation so for some odd reason, you feel rooted in place, stuck on the soft grey upholstery of his passenger’s side seat.</p>
<p>“So I’ll see you tomorrow?” he asks. <em>Does he want to see you?</em> you wonder. But you won’t ask. It’s better not to dwell on the things you’ll never know so you change your track of mind.</p>
<p>“Does he really have you working <em>everyday</em>?” you question, looking to him in disbelief.</p>
<p>He smiles like you’ve said something funny. Was it funny? You’re sure your humour meter’s been busted long ago by Hanamaki and Matsukawa so really, you can’t tell.</p>
<p>“Nah, I don’t work everyday. I think that’s illegal.” He pulls off his cap and runs a hand through his hair. His piercing makes another appearance, glinting in the low light like a star. “I get Tuesdays and Thursdays off. In case you wanted to know.”</p>
<p>There’s an edge to his voice. An implication. It’s dangerous and pointed like a sword and you know no one that wields it better than Osamu.</p>
<p>“That’s um,” you flounder for the right words. “That’s…<em>good</em>?” you squeak, cringing as the words leave your mouth.</p>
<p>He gives you a not-so-subtle once over. “You’re really interesting, you know that?” he says, like it’s a joke that you should be in on. You can’t help but think that his expectations for you are much too high.</p>
<p>“How?”</p>
<p>“I can’t figure you out,” he replies, a little cryptically himself. You’re not sure what there is to figure out; you’re just a regular twenty-one year old with growing student debt and a pessimistic outlook on the job market.</p>
<p>So you ask. “What’s there to figure out?” you say in genuine confusion.</p>
<p>“It’s like,” he twists the key in the ignition, turning the car off. The headlights dim to nothing and darkness blankets the interior. “Like I can’t tell how you feel about me. Sometimes I’m not even sure if you like me,” he confesses.</p>
<p>You wet your lips. “I like you,” you say quietly but the more romantic potential of what you’ve just said hits you only immediately after. “I mean I don’t— not like <em>that</em>— I just mean that I don’t <em>dislike</em> you or anything—”</p>
<p>He laughs and you wonder if you actually are funny. Of course, it’s all unintentional but hey, you’ll take it.</p>
<p>“I get it,” he says and you can’t see it but you can hear him smiling into the words. “I’m glad to know you don’t dislike me. It means a lot.”</p>
<p>You shake your head. “That sounds so <em>mean</em>, Osamu. We’re— we’re friends, right? Or like…work friends?”</p>
<p>“Work friends?” he repeats, amused.</p>
<p>“Y’know,” you wave your hands. “Professional friends?”</p>
<p>He snorts. “I think that’s somethin’ I’ve never had. A professional friend.”</p>
<p>Your cheeks flare with heat and you wonder if your body will ever tire of having this reaction <em>every</em> time an interaction with Osamu exceeds two minutes.</p>
<p>“Don’t make fun of me, ‘Samu.”</p>
<p>“‘<em>’Samu</em>’?” he parrots, still sounding too amused for your own comfort. “Don’t think that’s somethin’ a <em>professional</em> friend would be calling me.”</p>
<p>“Okay, okay,” you sigh. “We’re friends. Just…normal friends.”</p>
<p>He makes a thoughtful noise.</p>
<p>“Sounds good,” he says, pulling the cap back over his head.</p>
<p>“Good,” you reply with finality.</p>
<p>“So as your friend,” he begins, slipping a hand into his jacket pocket, “could I get your number?”</p>
<p>You blink. “My…my number?”</p>
<p>“Yeah,” he says, pulling out his phone. It flickers to life, the home screen displaying a self-taken shot of a beach somewhere. “Y’know, so I can text or call you if I can’t make it into work or somethin’ and I can’t reach your dad.”</p>
<p>“Oh,” you say. “Oh, yeah. That’s a good idea.”</p>
<p>The weight of his phone feels heavy and unfamiliar in your hands even though you’re pretty sure yours is the same model. It shouldn’t feel so personal to just hold the device, but for some reason it does. You input your information and double check your own number twice—even though you’d had the same one since you were thirteen—and hand him back the phone.</p>
<p>“Thanks,” he says, pocketing it. “I’ll text ya later so you have my number.”</p>
<p>You nod, trying not to hope for an actual text conversation with him. You’re not sure your heart could handle nearly leaping out of your throat every time a notification popped up on your screen.</p>
<p>“Well, I should go.” you finally say, tugging on the handle of the door before you can further self-sabotage.</p>
<p>“Yeah,” he says, turning the car back on. It starts and the headlights turn on again. “So, tomorrow?”</p>
<p>“Oh,” you say, forgetting that you’d completely disregarded his question from before. “Um, no. I took tomorrow off because my friends and I are going bar hopping tomorrow night. But Sunday for sure.”</p>
<p>“Sunday, then.” he says, as you step out onto the curb.</p>
<p>“Good night, Osamu,” you say, hand on the door as you ready to close it.</p>
<p>“Goodnight boss,” he grins and you roll your eyes as you swing the door shut.</p>
<p>The grass squishes softly underfoot as you make your way to the entrance of your building. You glance back once to see him idling, waiting for you to head inside.</p>
<p>You raise your hand to wave goodbye to him and you catch a glimpse of him returning the gesture before you slip in past the door.</p>
<p>You dig into your bag for your keys and as you lift them from their pocket, your phone lights up with a notification; an indication of a new text from an unknown number.</p>
<p>-</p>
<p>“Hold on, hold on,” you mumble to yourself as you slowly descend the stairs to the washroom. You grip the thin metal railing in an attempt to steady yourself but it’s sticky to the touch. When you finally make it to the door, you jiggle the handle only to find that it’s locked.</p>
<p>So there you are, drunker than you’d probably admit to, leaning against the tall stack of soju cases in the cramped bathroom hallway. The lighting is brighter here and you squint at the sign on the still-closed door mentioning the out of order paper towel dispenser.</p>
<p>Your mind swims when you close your eyes, so you avoid doing that as much as possible. You knock on the door but you’re only greeted with a slightly disconcerting silence. Was the occupant okay? Maybe they had drank too much and were now hunched over like a banana in front of the toilet. You know the pain of this very specific feeling down to the grime particles on the not-scrubbed bar toilet so you’re sympathetic to their plight.</p>
<p>You pull out your phone and open Instagram, scrolling through post after post and liking them thoughtlessly. Matsukawa has put a Boomerang on his story from about twenty minutes ago and you look about as unattractively sloshed as you feel. You’re about to reply with a few choice words when the screen switches to one of an incoming call.</p>
<p>Your thumb hovers over the decline button, half-expecting it to be a scam call, but then you read the contact name: Osamu ramen emoji.</p>
<p><em>Oh?</em> is the thought that pops up in your mind, delayed a few milliseconds by the <em>somaek</em> Hanamaki had sloppily prepared at the table. You were still not used to seeing ‘Osamu ramen emoji’ pop up on your phone even though he’d texted you a heart-stopping total of six times since he’d dropped you off last night.</p>
<p>You go through the short few messages in your head because, of course, you’ve memorized them word for word. They’re nothing significant, just greetings and a question about payroll but you answer each one almost immediately like an infatuated high schooler.</p>
<p>You almost forget to press ‘accept’ but by the time you think to, you miss the call. </p>
<p>“<em>Oh no</em>,” you whisper as you unlock the phone, scrambling to open your missed calls list to call him back.</p>
<p>The line rings only once before the sound of his voice floats through the speaker.</p>
<p>“Hello?”</p>
<p>“Hi,” you whisper back, a little breathless.</p>
<p>“Hey,” he chuckles. Something clatters in the background on his end.</p>
<p>“Did you call me?” you ask, still keeping your voice low. You look around but the only people that seem to be occupying the area are you and the girl who may or may not be throwing up in the bathroom.</p>
<p>“Yeah, I did,” he says. A huff comes through the speaker loudly and the background noise seems to fade as he moves to a new location. “Sorry to bother you on your night out with your friends. But do y’know where the thirty ounce soup container lids are? I asked your dad but he said you’d know.”</p>
<p>“Oh,” you let slip out. Because, <em>oh</em>. Soup containers? Lame.</p>
<p>“You don’t know either?” His voice is edged with amusement and you can almost see the accompanying smirk on his face.</p>
<p>“No, I,” you scrunch your brow. “I know. Of course I know.”</p>
<p>“Great,” he chirps. “Can ya tell me?”</p>
<p>“<em>Tch</em>,” you smile in spite of yourself. “What’s the magic word?”</p>
<p>He hums. “Is it Abracadabra?”</p>
<p>“Nope.”</p>
<p>“Alakazam?”</p>
<p>“Not even close.”</p>
<p>He laughs and the sound causes something to bubble up inside of you. Something that, thankfully, wasn’t your own bile.</p>
<p>“Please?”</p>
<p>“Mmmm,” you nudge at a crack in the tile with the toe of your sneaker. “Fine. Back shelf, top-right hand corner.”</p>
<p>There’s a shuffling noise and the sound of plastic wrap before his voice sounds in your ear again. “Found ‘em,” he says. “Thanks, boss.”</p>
<p>You sigh. “You don’t need to call me boss.”</p>
<p>“But you’re kinda my boss.”</p>
<p>“My <em>dad’s</em> your boss,” you correct. Heavy footsteps clatter down the stairs beside you and you turn to look at the newcomer.</p>
<p>It’s Oikawa. “It’s Tooru,” you say into the receiver mindlessly.</p>
<p>“Who’s Tooru?” Osamu asks at the same time Oikawa says hi.</p>
<p>Under the lighting of basement hallway, you can see a slight flush under his cheeks but he seems miles more sober than you.</p>
<p>“Who’re you talking to?” he asks, a quizzical look on his pretty features.</p>
<p>“A friend,” you say and they both make a noise acknowledging your answer.</p>
<p>“You’ve been gone a while,” Oikawa says. There’s a stain on his left shoulder that wasn’t there at the beginning of the night. “I was getting worried.”</p>
<p>“I’m fine,” you say, motioning to the still closed door. “There’s just someone in there and they haven’t come out in, like, <em>forever</em>.”</p>
<p>“Do you really need to go?” he asks and you think about the answer to that question for an embarrassingly long time.</p>
<p>“No,” you finally decide. The phone is still at your ear but all you can hear is the bustle of the kitchen.</p>
<p>“Okay, well if you can hold it, you can use the washroom when we get back to my place,” he offers and you nod, content. Oikawa turns to head up the stairs, but he waits for you to go first, looking at you expectantly.</p>
<p>You stumble forward, nearly braining yourself on the same sticky railing but he steadies your shoulder just in time.</p>
<p>“Oops,” you giggle.</p>
<p>“Careful,” Oikawa mumbles, slipping an arm around you to support you on your ascent up the stairs.</p>
<p>“I gotta say bye to my friend,” you say and he nods.</p>
<p>“Bye, Osamu,” you grin and he lets out a soft exhale.</p>
<p>“Stay safe,” he says. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”</p>
<p>The line goes dead and you let Oikawa half carry you back to the table. Not because you really need him to, but because it’s a lot less work for you that way and you’re feeling lazy.</p>
<p>There’s a half eaten <em>katsu</em> on the table and several empty bottles of beer and soju. Matsukawa looks like he’s ready to fall asleep and Hanamaki looks like he already has. Iwaizumi is on his phone and looks up when the two of you approach.</p>
<p>“I called the Uber,” he says and Oikawa nods.</p>
<p>He sets you down on the booth and squeezes in beside you, his shoulder bumping against yours as he settles in.</p>
<p>Here, the only lighting comes in the form of strands of LED fairy lights, strung across the restaurant in haphazard lines. It’s dim and warm and you, too, can’t help but feel a little sleepy as the effects of the drinks you’ve had continues to settle in.</p>
<p>The melody of an upbeat K-pop song plays from unseen speakers in the background and you lean your head against Oikawa’s shoulder. Even now, he smells like green tea shampoo and chlorine and when he reaches over to detach one of your earrings from the fabric of his shirt, his touch is warm and gentle.</p>
<p>Your eyelids grow heavier with each passing second and the next time you open your eyes you’re being jostled awake by Iwaizumi. He tells you that Oikawa is settling the bill and that your ride is outside the bar. Hanamaki and Matsukawa stumble ahead of you, giggling at a video on Matsukawa’s phone.</p>
<p>Still inebriated, you wander behind them in a daze. You pat your pockets to make sure you still have your phone on you, but they all turn up empty.</p>
<p>Whirling around, you come to face Oikawa’s chest.</p>
<p>“My phone,” you say.</p>
<p>“This phone?” he holds the device between his thumb and forefinger. A couple of text notifications light up the screen.</p>
<p>“Yes,” you reply, reaching for the device, but he holds it just out of grasp.</p>
<p>“You should be more careful,” he smirks. “Otherwise how would you be able to reply to…,” he glances at the screen and narrows his eyes, “…Osamu ramen emoji.”</p>
<p>“<em>Give</em> me that,” you snap, jumping for the phone but you miss. He hands it back to you anyway.</p>
<p>“Let’s go,” he says, patting your head like you’re his mom’s fluffy white dog, Lucky, instead of his best friend of three years.</p>
<p>You pout and he grins at you in response. His hand finds your shoulder and you lean into him, comforted by the easy familiarity between the two of you.</p>
<p>You keep your gaze ahead of you as you stumble onto the street and into the warm summer night. Maybe this is why you don’t notice the way he looks at you, like your touch is a gift. Like he wants to preserve this moment forever.</p>
<p>And perhaps it’s for the better. After all, everyone knows it wouldn’t change a thing.</p>
<p>-</p>
<p>The next morning goes about as horribly as it possibly can.</p>
<p>You wake up forty five minutes after you’re supposed to, your cheek sticky with drool, and your head pounding like your brain is trying to push its way out of your skull. Your phone is at 22% battery and you’ve received at least 8 missed calls: 6 from your dad and 2 from Osamu.</p>
<p>You scramble to get ready, but all it does is make you clumsier; you kick the bathroom door on your way out, you forget your keys in your other jacket. It’s a miracle that you’re even able to make it onto the bus without it careening off the street and into a mailbox or something.</p>
<p>But it isn’t the stinging pain in your toe or the humiliation of spilling your bag’s contents all over the floor of the bus that makes you feel the shittiest. Instead, it’s the feeling of knowing that your father is disappointed in you. It’s the gnawing, soul-wearing guilt that’s about to be multiplied tenfold the moment he gives you that disapproving look.</p>
<p>So you keep your head down when you burst in through the front door, only nodding when Hinata greets you with a wide grin. The restaurant is half-empty, of course, so he hadn’t had to put so much work into covering for you.</p>
<p>Instead of heading to the back, you throw your bag and jacket behind the bar and pull your hair into a sloppy ponytail. Thankfully, there’s a spare apron under the counter and you knot the string around your waist mindlessly.</p>
<p>A dark head of hair peeks out from the kitchen’s entrance and even though you’re massively out of breath, your heartbeat still manages to hasten to a pace probably unrecorded in human history.</p>
<p>“Mornin’,” Osamu greets you with an easy smile like you’ve just strode in half an hour early with your makeup done and a coffee in hand. You don’t know what world he’s living in but you want to book a first class ticket there as soon as possible.</p>
<p>“Hi,” you say, in between pants. Your heart is going to give out on you soon, you just know it. You can only hope that Iwaizumi gives the eulogy so you can pass onto the next life with some of your dignity intact.</p>
<p>“How ya doin’?” he leans against a stack of Sapporo cases. His arms are crossed over his chest and he looks relaxed in a way that’s almost smug. Maybe you’d be more tolerant if this day wasn’t already horrible, but it is, so you aren’t.</p>
<p>“How does it look like I’m doing?” you sigh, turning away so you don’t have to look at his smug, attractive face.</p>
<p>“Mmm. Not so hot,” he comments and you wish you could say the same for him.</p>
<p>“Guess there’s no admiring for you today then,” you retort, stabbing at the screen of the POS system to clock in.</p>
<p>“Now, I didn’t say <em>that</em>,” he muses cheekily and a surge of annoyance wells up within you. You’re tired of this. Of constantly feeling jerked around by his words alone. True intentions aside, he always manages to get the same reaction out of you, making your chest pang or your palms sweat. You’re no stranger to feeling foolish, but when you have to see him most days of the week, it gets a bit much.</p>
<p>“Osamu,” you say, turning to face him with what Matsukawa calls your ‘RBF’. “<em>Please</em>.”</p>
<p>He raises his hands up in surrender.</p>
<p>“Glad you’re not dead though. I was kinda worried when your dad said you weren’t answering your phone.”</p>
<p>“I’m fine,” you say brusquely.</p>
<p>“Yeah?”</p>
<p>“Yeah.”</p>
<p>“Alright,” he shrugs. “I’d avoid the kitchen for a while if I were you though.”</p>
<p>You huff. “He’s real mad, huh?”</p>
<p>“Well, you can’t really blame him, you’re almost an hour late.”</p>
<p>You grab a towel and the bottle of disinfectant. “I know, Osamu. I can read a clock.”</p>
<p>He opens his mouth, no doubt to make a smart response, but you walk off to wipe down an empty table.</p>
<p>A bell from the kitchen rings and Hinata scurries past you to fetch the order. You’re thankful for his presence today, not that you’re not thankful for it on most days. After all, he’s the ideal employee; personable, rarely late, and never a slacker. Perhaps he was even a better employee than you.</p>
<p>Guilt twists in your stomach, coiling into an uncomfortable ache, so you’re unusually glad when a patron flags you down to ask a question about the menu.</p>
<p>The lunch hour brings in more customers and there’s an unexpected rush from noon until around two. Of course, most of your duties are things you’ve done a million times over already, but the irregularly quick pace pushes any feelings of dread to the back of your mind.</p>
<p>So, you’re almost a little disappointed when you hand the bill to (presumably) the last table until dinner, punching in their total into the terminal before handing it to them. As you wait for them to complete the transaction, you glance at the clock. It’s almost four and your shift is nearly over.</p>
<p>Relief floods your system as you head back to register to count the cash drawer before you clock out for the day and you think that your luck may finally be turning around for the day.</p>
<p>Of course, you couldn’t be any more wrong, because as you scrawl down the drawer’s balance onto a piece of paper, you catch a glimpse of your father walking out of the kitchen. He beckons toward you with a stern expression on his face and something in your stomach drops.</p>
<p><em>Here we go</em>, you think, groaning inwardly as you follow him down the narrow hallway to the back storage area.</p>
<p>“Why were you late today?” he asks in Japanese, his tone deceptively calm.</p>
<p>“I was out with friends yesterday,” you say, staring at a stack of styrofoam containers on the shelf behind him.</p>
<p>“Out? Drinking?” he presses.</p>
<p>You sigh, a little annoyed. Was the concept of this so unfathomable? “Yeah, dad. We’re all twenty-one now.”</p>
<p>“You knew you had work the next day,” he says, a little sharper this time. “Why are you so irresponsible?”</p>
<p>You know there’s truth behind his words, but it makes you angry nonetheless. “I’m not—”</p>
<p>He cuts you off. “You <em>are</em>. You say you’re twenty-one but you don’t act like it. Going out, drinking, oversleeping… You have responsibilities to uphold. There are people that <em>rely</em> on you. What are you going to say to your future employers? Are you going to be late to those jobs as well? Are you going to drink yourself sick the night before <em>those</em> jobs too?”</p>
<p>“<em>No</em>,” you reply, your tone hardened with frustration. “This was just <em>once</em>. I’ve only been out <em>once</em> this month and I got home really late last night and I’m <em>sorry</em>, but—”</p>
<p>““<em>But</em>”?” he repeats. “But what? But this is just your father’s place? So it matters less?”</p>
<p>Anger ripples through you, white hot and dangerous. “Not everyone wants to spend their <em>entire</em> life here,” you hiss back. “Not everyone wants to spend every day getting up at five in the morning to prep food for a restaurant that almost <em>no one</em> goes to.”</p>
<p>Your father’s face remains impassive but you regret the words as soon as they slip from your tongue.</p>
<p>He sighs, his shoulders rising and falling with the action and before your eyes, he seems to shrink. It’s only in moments like this that you notice how much your father has aged; wrinkles line every feature of his face and liver spots dot his sun-tanned complexion. Grease burns mark his arms and hands, where the skin is cracked and worn from years of labour and neglected care.</p>
<p>He’s always the first to arrive and the last to leave and it shows in the bags under his eyes and the way he subtly rubs the growing aches in his back and joints. All your life, you’ve watched him give everything he’s ever had to this place without any form of recompense. It had cost him time with his family, his health, and ultimately, his marriage, but he was still giving. Still pouring every bit of his body and soul into this tiny, old restaurant in the middle of Japantown as if some great reward was yet to come.</p>
<p>It takes everything in you to not look away.</p>
<p>“You don’t understand,” he finally says, quiet and defeated.</p>
<p>“No,” you say, shaking your head. “I really don’t, dad. Is this place worth more than your own life? Is it worth your health? Your family?”</p>
<p>A stricken look crosses his face and for a second, you’re unsure of what his response will be.</p>
<p>“You don’t understand,” he says again.</p>
<p>You throw your hands up in frustration. “Yeah, I don’t. But I don’t even think I <em>want</em> to,” you scowl. “Not if it makes me like <em>this</em>.”</p>
<p>Taking one last look at the worn-down appearance of your father, you turn to leave and he doesn’t stop you.</p>
<p>In fact, no one stops you until you’ve made your way to the front, where Hinata is reading some kind of webcomic on his phone.</p>
<p>You grab your bag and jacket from under the bar counter and are halfway through clocking out on the system when Osamu appears in front of you, already wearing his change of clothes and an unusually grave expression on his face.</p>
<p>“What?” you say, flatly. You’re not in the mood for any kind of ribbing, flirtatious or not.</p>
<p>“Let’s go somewhere,” he says, but it sounds nothing like a suggestion.</p>
<p>“Excuse me?”</p>
<p>“I’m off now,” he states. “Let’s get <em>bingsu</em>. I know a place.”</p>
<p>You frown at him. “Why?”</p>
<p>“Because I heard what happened,” he responds, his eyebrows pinched. “And I think you need to cool off.”</p>
<p>Hinata is now glancing between the two of you instead of at the screen of his phone.</p>
<p>“Fine,” you sigh. “I can’t fucking stand being here anymore.”</p>
<p>-</p>
<p>The place he takes you to is cute and spacious and on the second floor of a trendy Koreatown strip mall. There’s a chalkboard wall with adorable, hand-drawn illustrations of animals and desserts and half the ceiling is made of glass, letting in the bright rays of afternoon sun. Under any other circumstance, you would’ve been a little flustered and half-wondering if this was a date, but you’re much too angry and he’s much too contemplative for that to be the reality.</p>
<p>“So,” he says, glancing up from the little pastel menu in front of him. “Have you decided on a flavour?”</p>
<p>“You pick,” you say distractedly. In truth, you don’t really care. There’s nothing on there that you hate and you doubt you’ll be able to eat much of it anyway.</p>
<p>“Mango or strawberry?” he asks, wrapping his fingers around a tiny glass of water.</p>
<p>You wet your lips. “Strawberry.”</p>
<p>“Good choice,” he replies before flagging down a waitress. He puts in the order and you stare at the wall behind him, trying to discern whether the light blue chalk drawing was a cat or a fox.</p>
<p>“Do you want to talk about it?” he says, after a minute of silence.</p>
<p>Your mouth sets in a hard line.</p>
<p>“You don’t have to,” he tacks on. “But I’m sorry,” he says. “I know it’s hard to be at odds with your parents like that.”</p>
<p>“You do?”</p>
<p>He nods. “My parents wanted me to go to university. Like my brother. But I don’t really think I’m cut out for higher education, y’know? They were really upset when I told them I wanted to cook for the rest of my life.”</p>
<p>You frown. “But that makes <em>sense</em>.”</p>
<p>He raises a brow, but doesn’t question your response.</p>
<p>‘It’s hard,” you continue. “Unless you’re lucky, it’s really hard. Like, just look at my dad. I—I mean he’s given so much and there’s just—there’s nothing to <em>show</em> for it.”</p>
<p>He glances at the condensation on his own glass. “I don’t see it that way,” he replies steadily.</p>
<p>You shake your head. “That’s the <em>problem</em>. You don’t know. You don’t know how many loans my family’s had to take out. Loans that we still haven’t paid back in full. You don’t know how my mom just—she just <em>left</em> because she couldn’t do it anymore.”</p>
<p>“Your mom left?” he asks, incredulously.</p>
<p>You bite your tongue. Perhaps you should’ve done that sooner.</p>
<p>“Yeah,” you say, with a heavy exhale. “I mean, they’re not <em>legally</em> divorced or anything but she went back to Japan. Told me she needed to help out with her parents’ company one day and then just took the next flight out.”</p>
<p>“I’m sorry,” he says sincerely and the pity in his tone makes you want to just curl up and disappear.</p>
<p>“It’s fine,” you reply instead. “She keeps asking me to go live with her for a few months but I…I don’t think I can.”</p>
<p>He leans forward in his seat. “Why not?”</p>
<p>You let out an unsteady laugh. “I mean, I don’t know the language. And I have school and all my friends here. And I just—I can’t leave my dad here by himself. He doesn’t know how to take care of himself and I do so much of the bookkeeping too…I think he’d be lost if I just left too.”</p>
<p>He nods. “I get it. That’s…that’s really admirable of you.”</p>
<p>“Is it?” you ask, slightly amused.</p>
<p>“Yeah,” he says in earnest. “You care about your dad a lot and I think that’s really cool.”</p>
<p>You consider this for a moment. You’d never really thought of staying as an option; it seemed to be a given that you’d remain here with your father. After all, you couldn’t leave him alone, not when your mother already had.</p>
<p>You shrug. “He needs me. I mean, what else does he have here? The restaurant? It barely does well enough for us to survive.”</p>
<p>He’s silent for a minute. In this time, the waitress reappears with a stone bowl piled high with shaved ice and chopped strawberries, drenched with bright red puree.</p>
<p>You grab a spoon and carve out a small amount of pink ice. The sweet coldness bursts across your tongue as you pop the bite into your mouth, trying not to grimace at the freezing sensation on your teeth.</p>
<p>“I think I have a solution for that,” he says, picking up his own spoon. It glints brightly in the sunlight.</p>
<p>“Oh yeah?” you say, after letting the melted bite slide down your throat. “A solution for what?”</p>
<p>“Slow business,” he remarks casually, scooping up a piece of hulled strawberry. “I think I know someone that might be able to help.”</p>
<p>That catches your attention.</p>
<p>“Oh?” you readjust yourself and lean forward.</p>
<p>“I’m listening.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>current concern: i accidentally put regular soap in a foaming soap bottle and now the nozzle makes farting noises when i press down on it<br/><a href="http://twitter.com/Iunaryear">twitter</a> | <a href="http://stelleum.tumblr.com">tumblr</a></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. thursday (星期四)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“You’re joking,” you say, leaning over the bar counter. Osamu’s phone has been placed in front of you with his Instagram opened to a profile you’ve only really come across on your Explore page.</p><p>“Not joking,” he replies earnestly, arms folded across his chest as he surveys the display on the device. There’s a contemplative look on his face that tingles some bullshit senses in the back of your mind but you can’t seem to pull your attention away from the girl in the pictures.</p><p>“But there’s no way,” you frown, scrolling through the endless reel of high quality photos. “She’s one of the <em>biggest</em> influencers in the city. She has, like, a <em>billion</em> followers.”</p><p>He snorts. “Actually, she has five hundred and twenty six thousand followers,” he corrects, pointing out the still absurdly large number on the screen.</p><p>“How do you even <em>know</em> her?” you wonder, turning to give him an inquisitive look. “Is she your girlfriend or something?”</p><p>“My girlfriend—?” he gives you a strange look. “No way, we’re just <em>friends</em>. We went to the same high school and took the same ESL classes.”</p><p>You glance from the image of the absurdly pretty girl to your attractive coworker and back again. You could <em>kinda</em> see it; she was gorgeous and confident and had a workout routine or whatever and Osamu was, <em>well</em>, Osamu. Overall, she was much more in his league than you.</p><p>“Okay, but why would she agree to do this for a <em>high school </em>friend,” you point out. “What’d you do? Save her cat from a burning house or something?”</p><p>A text notification pops up on his screen and he drags it down to look at the message. He shrugs. “She likes good food and she wanted to see where I worked now anyway. Plus I told her the food’d be on us. Or me. If ya can’t do that.”</p><p>You drum your fingers on the bar counter. Of course you could do that. You couldn’t even imagine making someone like <em>her</em> pay for a meal at your hole-in-the-wall restaurant.</p><p>“This is crazy,” you say finally, shaking your head. “The restaurants in her stories are like five-star, 3 months in advance reservation type places. We’re nothing like that.”</p><p>He raises a brow. “You don’t think the food is up to par?”</p><p>“I didn’t say that,” you state pointedly. “I said we’re not exactly a Michelin star establishment.”</p><p>“She’ll like it,” he replies, sounding way too assured for someone who was <em>just</em> her friend. You’re suspicious but to be honest, you have no right to be; he’s just your coworker-slash-friend that gives you the internal butterflies every time he so much as makes eye contact with you.</p><p>“Alright,” you say reluctantly. “When did you say she was coming?”</p><p>Another text notification causes his phone to vibrate.</p><p>“Mmm,” he hums, reading the message. “Right about now.”</p><p>-</p><p>When you see her for the first time, you can’t help but feel a little bit enamoured.</p><p>She greets your father with a smile and a deep bow, introducing herself as Sakaguchi Kana, a friend of Osamu’s. Her Japanese is perfect and her manners are impeccable. In the end, even he seems a little taken with her, promising to prepare only the best dishes for her and maybe even a bit more.</p><p>It stirs something odd within you; a feeling of isolation like you’re looking in on a scenario you aren’t a part of. She says something— a joke maybe— and your dad and Osamu laugh openly. You’d understood most of the words she’d said but perhaps you weren’t picking up on some double entendre or cultural reference. Either way, you don’t feel sure enough to laugh along so you just stand there like a stranger in your own (well, technically your father’s own) establishment.</p><p>When he finally retreats back to the kitchen, you show her to a table and offer her one of the only menus that didn’t have a slightly sticky residue on the laminated covers. She flips through it interestedly, jewelry glinting on her fingers and wrists as she leafs through the worn pages.</p><p>You try not to watch as you return to the counter to prepare a cup of tea for her— loose-leaf, not bagged, as instructed by your dad. Osamu walks over to take the seat in front of her and out of the corner of your eye, you see him say something to her that makes her laugh.</p><p><em>Oh well</em>, you think as you punch the hot water button moodily. You didn’t <em>really</em> think you were in his league anyway.</p><p>-</p><p>If there’s one thing you learn about social media marketing today, it’s that it takes a lot more work than you expect it to.</p><p>Plates are arranged and rearranged, tables shifted, and obstructions moved to obtain the perfect lighting for each shot. You think Kana has taken at least a billion pictures by now but even a billion isn’t enough when the last dish of her meal comes out.</p><p>It’s two <em>onigiri</em>, arranged artfully on a plate with pieces of <em>nori</em> and even a flower on the side. Osamu beams as he carries out, settling it in front of her with a flourish and a playful bow.</p><p>“It’s <em>kakuni</em>,” he mentions as she appraises the dish. “Your favourite.”</p><p>You turn away. You can’t believe you ever bought the whole ‘high school friends’ thing because, really, who could resist her? Her with her perfectly balayaged hair and glass-smooth skin. You bet she didn’t even have to use like a billion different serums and essences to get it that way. Probably all good genetics and whatnot.</p><p>She takes another dozen photos before setting her phone down beside her to finally eat them. You hear her make a delighted noise, spouting praise at your terribly attractive coworker while you stand near the register and pretend to busy yourself with organizing receipts. The logical part of you says that you have no reason to feel so irritated; after all Osamu was just a friend and well, you’d have to be blind to see why he <em>wouldn’t</em> be interested in her. In contrast, the emotional part of you says it wants to beat the logical part of you to death.</p><p>You bow to her twenty minutes later as she takes her leave and she thanks you sincerely before walking out the door in a subtle mist of jasmine perfume.</p><p>Something nags at you then, an odd unpleasant feeling that sits near the back of your brain and prods at the grey matter there.</p><p>You watch as Hinata clears the dishes, stacking plate upon plate in quick, familiar motions. From the entrance to the kitchen you can see Osamu just standing there, phone in his hands as he grins at the screen like an idiot. Maybe he’s <em>already</em> messaging her again.</p><p>The bitter taste of jealousy settles on your tongue like over-steeped tea and it takes everything within you to swallow it down. You know what you have to do; you know you were raised better than this.</p><p>Tossing your apron behind the counter, you make your way to the door and shove it open. On a sunny weekend afternoon like today, the streets of Japantown are packed but you manage to spot her at the end of the block.</p><p>“Kana-san,” you call out, half-jogging as you attempt to catch up to her. The honorific feels odd in your mouth but simply addressing her by her given name seems to informal. Especially since she was, well, <em>her</em>.</p><p>She turns, her heels scuffing on the concrete as she lowers her phone.</p><p>“I, um,” you begin, feeling the billionth wave of self-consciousness overtake you that day. “I wanted to say thank you,” you say, meeting her gaze. God, are her eyelashes <em>real</em>? Did real people have eyelashes that long?</p><p>“You didn’t have to come by and do this,” you continue, beating down your pride with a deep breath. “We really <em>do</em> need the help and— and my dad and I are very grateful.”</p><p>She smiles, all pink gloss and perfect teeth. “It was my pleasure,” she responds, the words sounding genuine to your ears. “Everything was amazing and I’m surprised you even <em>need</em> promotion.”</p><p>“But thank you,” she adds, the charms on her bracelet tinkling as she readjusts her purse. “You’re very kind. I can see why Osamu talks about you so much.”</p><p>There’s a teasing edge to her voice now and you stiffen at the mention of Osamu’s name. <em>He</em> talks about <em>you</em>? You can’t even imagine what he’d say about you; maybe really disparaging things like how you can’t read a clock or how you’d spilled half a bowl of miso soup over yourself when he’d called out your name across the dining room last week.</p><p>“I don’t—?”</p><p>“Hey!” you hear a voice behind you and you turn to see Osamu striding towards the two of you.</p><p>Kana gives him an impish grin. “What’s the problem, ‘Samu? Don’t worry, I wasn’t gonna steal her away, we were just having a talk.”</p><p>“I don’t need ya spreading your lies,” he says, faux-seriously as he waggles a finger at her.</p><p>She smirks and rolls her eyes before turning back to you.</p><p>“Be careful with this one,” she warns playfully, tucking a strand of ash blonde behind her ear.</p><p>You blink, clearly unaware of what the fuck was currently going on. Glancing at Osamu, you notice the faintest traces of a flush in his cheeks as he makes an indignant noise at the polished-looking influencer.</p><p>To your surprise, she just sticks her tongue out at him. It’s the least elegant thing she’s done today but somehow you don’t think you’d look half as composed doing the same thing.</p><p>“I’ll tell Shinsuke you said hi,” she calls out as she pulls out a set of keys from her bag. She presses a button and the silver sedan beside you makes a noise as it unlocks.</p><p>“Yeah, yeah,” he says, waving her off as you fumble through a goodbye, your brain scrambling to piece together the bits of interaction within the last couple of minutes.</p><p>“Fuckin’ Kana,” he mutters under his breath as she pulls out into the street.</p><p>“Um,” you swallow, your mouth dry. “Is she— Are you <em>sure</em> you guys are just friends?”</p><p>You feel petty for even asking but at the same time, you’re desperate to find an explanation for what had just went down.</p><p>“<em>Ah</em>,” he scratches the back of his neck. “Well, I guess I wasn’t bein’ <em>completely</em> honest before…” he begins and you raise an eyebrow.</p><p>“We dated for like six months near the end of high school,” he admits abashedly. </p><p>You frown. Your first reaction is a short spurt of validation brought on by having your suspicions confirmed. But the next is a less pleasant wave of inadequacy; after all, if he's used to dating girls like <em>Kana</em>, then you <em>really</em> had no chance.</p><p>“But do you guys…are you guys still uh…y’know?”</p><p>“<em>Huh</em>?” he lets out a snort. “<em>No</em>. No <em>way</em>. She’s engaged to one of my best friends.”</p><p>Your mouth falls open.</p><p>“She’s <em>engaged</em>?” you question in disbelief. You had noticed the large assortment of jewelry adorning her hands but you weren’t paying too much attention to the specific fingers her rings were on.</p><p>“Yeah,” he says. “I think they’re announcing it on her page soon or whatever.”</p><p>“And you were okay with her dating one of your friends?”</p><p>He shrugs. “We were a terrible match and high school was like a billion years ago.”</p><p>“Huh,” you say, a little dumbfounded.</p><p>“What did she tell you anyway?” he questions as you both make you way back to the restaurant.</p><p>“She said…” you frown, mulling over her words. “She said you talk about me a lot.”</p><p>He nearly walks face-first into the door.</p><p>“She <em>said</em> that?” he exclaims, catching himself just in time.</p><p>“Yeah,” you nod. “Have any idea what she’s talking about?”</p><p>He looks past you.</p><p>“Nope, no idea.”</p><p>“Oh,” you say, a little more disappointed than you thought you’d be. You make your way back into the restaurant and head behind the counter to grab your apron.</p><p>“But <em>anyway</em>,” he says pointedly as you reappear again. “What are you doing next Tuesday night?”</p><p>You pause, the rough straps twisted into your fingers as you prepare to tie them behind your back.</p><p>“I don’t <em>think</em> I’m doing anything then,” you say slowly, trying to make sense of the complete 180 the conversation had just taken.</p><p>“Great,” he chirps, leaning against he countertop with one elbow. “Ever been to the Tanabata festival they hold here?”</p><p>You wet your lips. You had, in fact, been to the Tanabata festival multiple times, but only as a child and only with both of your parents. Only vague memories of that event exist now; the glow of the endless row of stalls and the soft brush of the paper decorations against your shoulder.</p><p>“I haven’t been in a while,” you admit, looping the strings with your fingers.</p><p>“Then we should go,” he asserts as you pull the knot tight. “It’ll be fun.”</p><p>You bite the inside of your cheek as your brain digs for any hint of an implication. You’ve never been so unsure of someone’s intentions in your life.</p><p>Glancing at him, you notice the way he looks at you while waiting for your answer. It’s hopeful and soft, stirring all kinds of emotions within you as you take it in.</p><p>“Okay,” you say with finality. “Tuesday it is.”</p><p>-</p><p>Kana’s posts go out that night and like the miracle that social media is, you begin to see the results the very next day.</p><p>The lunch rush is genuinely a <em>rush</em> and dinner is even more hectic, with each period lasting longer than it had ever before. Thankfully, you and Hinata are able to keep up. In fact, the younger boy seems even <em>more</em> energized with the increased workload, buzzing about the restaurant with a grin on his face and a cheerful greeting for every customer. You’re mystified by this phenomenon but whatever, you’re not one to question a good thing.</p><p>You don’t see your father or Osamu for the entire day, save for passing glances and quick remarks as you pick up order after order from the kitchen. Things with your father are still awkward to say the least, but you manage to maintain a clear line of communication as you all try to survive the unexpected onslaught of customers.</p><p>“Remind me to send Kana an edible arrangement or something,” you joke as you calculate the totals for the day, the final number of digits higher than it had been in a long time.</p><p>“She’d love that,” Osamu snorts. “Send her enough food and she might even invite you to her wedding.”</p><p>From the corner of your eye, you spot your dad emerging from the kitchen with a bowl of something in his hands. He sets it down on the end of the counter and you realize then, that’s a  dish of cut up cantaloupe, complete with toothpicks in a few pieces for easy eating.</p><p>“Make sure you finish it,” he says and motions to Osamu, “And I mean the both of you.”</p><p>Osamu grins and gives a slight bow in thanks before reaching over to pull the bowl closer to you.</p><p>“Thanks, dad,” you call out hesitantly as he turns to walk back to the kitchen and he grunts in acknowledgement before slipping away.</p><p>You grab a piece of melon and slip it between your teeth, chewing as you finish up the cash out process. A part of you feels more relieved than you can explain, but another part of you feels dissatisfied; there’s a conversation you and your father are both holding out on and while cut fruit is usually a signal to end any kind of conflict, you don’t know how much longer that’s going to work.</p><p>Folding the receipts into an envelope, you prepare to log out of the system when there’s a knock at the door.</p><p>You raise your head, prepared to gesture at the bright neon ‘Closed’ sign when you see who’s standing there, brunet crown still damp from the pool.</p><p>“<em>Tooru</em>,” you smile, circling around the counter to unlock the door.</p><p>“Hey,” he says simply, megawatt grin on his face as he steps into the restaurant. Although he’s only in his plain university swim team shirt and old sweatpants, his presence glows.</p><p>You’d learned long ago with all his medals and charm that Oikawa Tooru was a force of nature; drawing adoration from everyone in his wake. And you know that even under the natural bravado and cheerful demeanour, he’s just as golden at his core.</p><p>From the bottom of your heart, you are honoured to call him your best friend.</p><p>“I’m sorry that the kitchen’s closed but—” you lead him further into the dining room. “—but have some melon,” you push the bowl towards him.</p><p>Osamu leans against the counter, toothpick in hand as he appraises Oikawa. The sentiment is seemingly mirrored as the tall brunet glances at your coworker.</p><p>“Oh yeah,” you gush, remembering that Oikawa wasn’t present the last time your friends were here. “Osamu, this is Oikawa Tooru. Tooru this is Miya Osamu.”</p><p>“Ah,” Oikawa says, smiling. “Osamu ramen emoji.”</p><p>Osamu raises a brow. “What?”</p><p>You let out a short laugh. “That’s just, <em>ah</em>, that’s just your contact name on my phone,” you explain, getting a little flustered for absolutely no reason. “Not like the <em>words</em> ‘ramen emoji’, I mean like the <em>actual</em> ramen emoji, of course. That’d be kind of weird if I just…”</p><p>You let yourself trail off before your rambling gets even more cringeworthy. Truly, you don’t know why your tongue seems to lack restraint whenever Osamu is involved.</p><p>“I’ll get back to tomorrow’s kitchen prep,” Osamu says, excusing himself with a polite bow in Oikawa’s direction before retreating back into the kitchen.</p><p>“I see what Makki and Mattsun won’t stop gossiping about now,” Oikawa muses teasingly as the other boy moves out of earshot.</p><p>“I hate those two,” you sigh, stabbing at a piece of orange fruit.</p><p>“It’s fun to see you so,” he tilts his head, “<em>interested</em> in someone. Do you think he knows?”</p><p>You wet your lips. “I sure <em>hope</em> not,” you snort. “It’d be so weird to work with someone who might reject me at any moment.”</p><p>Oikawa gives you an indecipherable smile. “Don’t sell yourself short. I think you’re a <em>lot</em> less likely to be rejected than you think.”</p><p>You chew the inside of your cheek. “You think? He asked me to go to the Tanabata festival with him next week. Have you ever been to that?”</p><p>He makes a thoughtful noise. “Only a few times.”</p><p>“It’s next Tuesday,” you say. “Y’know, if you want to go with the others.”</p><p>He holds a hand over his chest. “Are you asking me to crash your date?” he asks, in faux-shock.</p><p>“Haha,” you say dryly. “It’s not a <em>date</em>.”</p><p>“I wouldn't be so sure about that," he singsongs leaning against the counter’s surface. “Besides, I can’t. I’ll probably be practicing. There’s another meet next week and I’d rather <em>die</em> than come in second to any of those state school idiots.”</p><p>“You’ll kick ass,” you say assuringly before popping a piece of melon in your mouth.</p><p>“You know it,” he grins.</p><p>“I should get going though," he says, shouldering his duffle bag. “Wouldn’t want to keep you from, <em>ah</em>, closing up.” He eyes the entrance to the kitchen and gives you a knowing smile.</p><p>You roll your eyes, following him as he walks to the exit.</p><p>“It’s <em>not</em> a date,” you reiterate as he leans against the door.</p><p>“Whatever you say,” he says, ruffling your hair as a light evening breeze blows into the store. You catch a strong whiff of chlorine from him, carried by the wind.</p><p>“Goodnight, Tooru,” you say with a roll of your eyes.</p><p>“Goodnight, sweetheart,” he coos mockingly, before turning and giving you a final wave goodbye.</p><p>You watch him stride down the block to the bus stop, managing to hop on as it pulls up to the curb. He gives you one final wave through the window as it passes the restaurant and you return it with a wide grin.</p><p>“Ready to go?” a voice sounds behind you and you jump, whirling around to face the sudden intrusion.</p><p>“Shit, sorry,” Osamu says with an apologetic smile, raising his hands in surrender. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”</p><p>“I feel like you’re <em>always</em> scaring me,” you confess, leaning against the wall.</p><p>“Pretty sure it’s a good sign when you can get a girl’s heart racing,” he teases and you feel your cheeks redden. You think you’re just going to keel over one day with one perfectly timed remark from him.</p><p>Clearing your throat, you attempt to change the subject.</p><p>“What’d you mean about being ready to go? You can leave if you’re done,” you say, taking note of his lack of apron.</p><p>“But then how would I drive you home?” he asks, tilting his head.</p><p>You think you feel him get even closer.</p><p>“Oh, <em>uh</em>,” you swallow, your pulse picking up at the thought of getting to spend more time with him. “If it’s not too much <em>trouble</em>, then…”</p><p>“Course it isn’t.” He gives you an easy grin.</p><p>You can't stop the smile from forming on your own lips now.</p><p>“Alright,” you agree softly. “But I need to finish up in the front, so it’ll be a few minutes.”</p><p>“I’ll be here,” he says. “So take your time.”</p><p>-</p><p>It’s only when you get to the festival the next week that you realize you might’ve made a mistake.</p><p>That day had been hot— almost scorching— and you couldn’t even think about going out in anything that covered your shoulders. That’s how you end up in a sleeveless cotton sundress with a hem that barely grazes you mid-thigh.</p><p>And it had been fine for most of the early evening; the air was still warm with the last vestiges of sunlight and the breeze was by no means chilly. But as dusk settles into night, you begin to feel a light chill, snaking up your limbs and drawing goosebumps along your skin.</p><p>You try not to let it show but when Osamu hands you a large mango slush all bets are off. You grip the drink gingerly, trying not to let it touch your palm too much, lest it leech the body heat from your arm.</p><p>Thankfully, he doesn’t seem to notice your plight while he’s pointing out the myriad of things that catch his eye; mostly the things that are the same in Japan and the things that are not. He buys you freshly-made <em>taiyaki</em> and grins as he bites into the warm red bean filling, stating that it tastes like home.</p><p>You don’t know anything of that ‘<em>home’</em>, but you enjoy it nonetheless, revelling in its gentle sweetness. It also helps that it’s quite warm, restoring some of the heat that the icy drink had previously sapped.</p><p>All around you there are people milling about, holding their own trays of street food or small prizes from festival games. Some are even wearing <em>yukata</em> in different colours and patterns, their hair pulled up in styles your mother had only attempted on you when you were a small child. You’re not even sure if you have a <em>yukata</em> that fits you anymore; it had been years since you’d been around a cultural event like this.</p><p>You wonder if Osamu owns a <em>yukata</em>; you think he’d look obscenely good in one. Maybe it’s best that he isn’t wearing one now because you’re having difficulty looking at him now as is. He isn’t even dressed any different than he usually is, decked in a pair of worn jeans and a snug white tee with a thin flannel hanging off of his broad frame. You kind of think he looks like a men’s casual wear model. Not that you’d ever mention it to him.</p><p>“You’re staring,” he points out, sending your train of thought off the rails.</p><p>“Not at <em>you</em>,” you blurt out unconvincingly, hand tightening around a wooden skewer of squid balls.</p><p>“Uh huh,” he grins. “Whatever you say, boss.”</p><p>You groan. “Don’t call me that, Osamu.”</p><p>“Oh?” he says as you walk past a goldfish-catching game stand. “What would you rather I call you?”</p><p>“I…,” you furrow your brow. “i don’t know? Is my name not good enough?”</p><p>“Mmm,” he hums. “Nope. Don’t get me wrong, it’s a great name but I think I’d want to call you something else too. Something only between us.”</p><p>You cock your head.</p><p>“Like what?”</p><p>“Ah,” he wets his lips. It’s difficult to tell in the dim lighting of the surrounding paper lanterns, but you think he looks the tiniest bit flustered. “I-I’m not sure. I didn’t expect you to actually <em>ask</em>.”</p><p>You stifle a laugh. You hadn’t expected him to look so caught off guard by your question.</p><p>“Tell ya what,” he quips. “I’ll think about it and let you know what I come up with.”</p><p>“Sounds good to me,” you reply breezily.</p><p>Ahead of you, a small crowd bustles around a few trunks of bamboo. Even from here, you can see the colourful pieces of paper tied to their foliage; wishes transcribed in ink for the world to witness.</p><p>“Wanna make your own wish?” he asks, motioning to the booth handing out slips of paper and pens.</p><p>You eye the bunches of colour on nearly every branch before turning back to Osamu. Besides better wardrobe choices, you don’t know what more you could want for in this moment.</p><p>“Nah,” you say with a smile. “But you can if you want.”</p><p>He glances at you. “Maybe I will then.”</p><p>You watch as he scrawls down his own wish on a slip of bright blue paper, only trying a couple of times to peek at what it says. To your disappointment, you can’t read it, your lack of proficiency in Japanese throwing a wrench in your life once again.</p><p>He strings the wish up and stands back to admire his handwork, his hand brushing against you as he does.</p><p>“Shit,” he mumbles, his hand reaching out to land on your bicep. “Are you cold? Because your arms are <em>freezing</em>.”</p><p>“<em>Oh</em>,” you squeak, revelling in the sudden warmth of his touch. “Yeah, maybe a little,” you admit abashedly.</p><p>He frowns before shrugging out of his flannel.</p><p>“Here,” he says, draping it over your shoulders before you can even protest. “It’s not the thickest, but at least you’ll be a little less cold.”</p><p>“T-thanks,” you stammer, grateful and just a little bit flustered. You try not to think about how it smells like him and how warm it still is from his body. No, that wouldn’t be appropriate at all.</p><p>“I know you’re cold but there are fireworks at 10 and if you can stick it out, I know the best place to watch them from.”</p><p>You tug at the sleeves. With his generous donation, you think you can brave the mild chill of the midsummer night now and you tell him as much.</p><p>“Alright then,” he grins. “But we still have some time until then so I think we should see how much better I am than you at the ring toss.”</p><p>““<em>Better than</em>”?” you snort indignantly. “You’ve never even <em>seen</em> me do the ring toss.”</p><p>“Care to prove me wrong, then?” he smirks, nudging you with an elbow.</p><p>You roll your shoulders back, feeling the soft material of his flannel brush over your back.</p><p>“You’re on.”</p><p>-</p><p>He leads you up the hill via a quiet lamplit path through the park. It’s late enough that you only pass the occasional jogger or cyclist on your journey. You pull his flannel around you tighter as a breeze rustles the trees around you.</p><p>You’re walking close together now; so close that his hand keeps brushing against your wrist as you continue on, side-by-side. You try not to overthink these small touches, but you make no effort to avoid them and neither does he.</p><p>When you finally reach the jungle gym, you’re greeted with the sight of the festival lights below you; a wash of warm colour against the dull fluorescents of the city. Here, the foliage of the trees part to give way to a view of the base of the hill and tucked right near the slope is a vacant bench.</p><p>He motions to it and you follow his lead, taking a seat on the cool metal. You shiver as you feel it contact against the bare skin of your thigh but when Osamu settles in beside you, you feel his warmth wash over your side.</p><p>Pulling your phone out, you glance at the time display on the screen.</p><p>9:54 PM.</p><p>You wonder if you can manage not to say something ridiculous for the next six minutes, but realistically, you know your prognosis is not great. Settling your hands in your lap, you try to look anywhere but right beside you as he closes the distance between you with a subtle shift of his body.</p><p>Your heart thrums and your mouth goes dry as you feel the warm press of his side against your arm. If he notices the effect he has on you, he doesn’t make it apparent, choosing instead to check his own phone for a second.</p><p>“Still cold?” he asks, the glow of the device disappearing as he slips it back into his pocket. “If you are, you could come a bit closer,” he suggests teasingly.</p><p>Your pulse jumps and you let out a nervous laugh. “I don’t think I <em>can</em> get any closer,” you remark, hands shaking as you turn to look at him.</p><p>Dark grey eyes meet yours and you let out a soft exhale. As if following the motion, his gaze shifts downward to land on your lips and it feels like something in your chest is about to burst.</p><p>“Osamu,” you breathe, words faltering as you try to lean back. “I— I don’t understand. Why do you keep…?”</p><p>“I could ask you the same thing,” he interjects softly. “I feel like— I feel like every time I get close to you like this, you just pull away.”</p><p>There’s a second of silence before he continues.</p><p>“And I don’t want to make you uncomfortable but,” his fingers come up to brush a strand of hair from your temple, “but I really like you. Not as a coworker, not as a boss, and not as a friend.”</p><p>You blink, hands stilling as you slowly take in what he’s just said. There’s no hidden intention now; no nuance to spot or double meaning to his words. He’s showing his hand and all you can do is gape like an idiot while you scramble to come up with a response.</p><p>“So this is me,” he gives a short laugh, “confessing to you. Sorry if it feels like I’m just kinda springing it on you. I thought this would be a good time and...and I don’t think I could’ve ended the night without saying so.”</p><p>“Osamu, I—” you stammer, pulse roaring in your ear as you allow yourself to look at him in all his moonlit glory. “I can’t believe it,” you whisper. “You <em>like</em> me? You like <em>me</em>?”</p><p>The phrase sounds weird no matter how you say it, the words fitting oddly on your tongue as you speak them. Square peg in a round hole and all that.</p><p>He smiles then. Warmly. Gorgeously.</p><p>You swallow.</p><p>“I think I’m crazy for you.”</p><p>His sentence is punctuated by a whistling sound, a faint noise from the bottom of the hill that breaks through the din of the night. You hear it climb to the sky before it bursts with a loud <em>pop</em>, sending bright sparks into the evening air.</p><p>But as dazzling as the display is and as brilliant as the colours are, your focus is entirely elsewhere.</p><p>You feel his touch against the curve of your jaw, tilting your chin upward as he draws closer. The explosions right beside you fade to background noise and all you can hear is your heartbeat, picking up to a frenzied pace as you feel his breath mingle with yours.</p><p>The last thing you see before his forehead touches yours is the blazing reflection of fireworks in his eyes.</p><p>And you.</p><p>The centre of his attention. The one who gets his heart racing.</p><p>It’s you.</p><p>You close your eyes and lean in.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>current concern: i keep forgetting to take my iron supplements<br/><a href="https://twitter.com/Iunaryear">twitter</a> | <a href="https://stelleum.tumblr.com">tumblr</a></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. friday (星期五)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The kiss is warm and gentle, with Osamu’s touch impossibly light against your jaw. You sigh against his mouth, a soft noise of relief; from what, you’re not in the right state of mind to specify. All you can feel is the slow leaving of tension from your limbs, snaking down your calves to the soles of your shoes and into the compact dirt below. </p><p>Eagerness blooms in your chest to replace it, fresh and vibrant, spurning you to lean further into him. You feel his laugh ghost against your lips; a soft, airy chuckle that does nothing to dissuade you. </p><p>Lights of every colour flash in front of your eyelids, paired with the almost rhythmic <em>pop</em>s of the scattering fireworks. You feel his touch settle at your waist under the loaned flannel and you can’t help but lean into it, curving your body to further face his. </p><p>It feels like an eternity later when you pull away, your mind hazy and your lips burning. You’re certain that the feeling of him, of this moment, will be one you remember forever.</p><p>You open your eyes to catch him already gazing at you, the tenderness behind it reminiscent of your many interactions before. Even now, you can hardly believe that he harbours the feelings for you that he claims to. </p><p>It borders on being too good to be true. </p><p>“Osamu.” You hold his name in your mouth like it’s made of glass.</p><p>“I think I’ve figured out what I want to use as your nickname,” he says, his hand moving to curl around your wrist. </p><p>You feel something rise within you, stretching like a balloon taut from being filled to near-bursting. </p><p>“I think— I think I’d like to call you mine.” </p><p>He swallows. “I mean, if you’d <em>want</em> to be, of course.”</p><p>You think he looks delightfully flustered like this, cheeks pink and lips swollen. He looks the way you feel whenever you’re around him.</p><p>But there’s something else, too. Something that nags at the back of your mind like a quiet sort of unease that sours the moment for you.</p><p>You can’t believe that you’ve been so blinded by your crush that it’d never occurred to you before.</p><p>“I—” your brow furrows as you struggle to articulate your worries.</p><p>“I like you,” you begin and he blinks.</p><p>“There’s a “but”, isn’t there?” he says wryly, apprehension settling across his features.</p><p>“I just…I know it’s so ridiculous to even say out loud but you— I mean, I just don’t know if we’re <em>compatible</em>.”</p><p>He frowns but when he speaks again, he’s not immediately defensive.</p><p>“What do you mean?”</p><p>“You want what my father has,” you say slowly. “You want to own a restaurant. Or like cook in one for the rest of your life. Live out your dream and all that.”</p><p>Osamu’s jaw tightens. “I suppose that’s the plan right now, yes.”</p><p>“I…I don’t want that. For me. Or for him.” You tear your eyes away from the boy beside you. “I don’t want him to struggle the way he’s struggled for years now.” Your expression softens. “I want him to be able to rest. Be more attentive to his own health. Not have to stress about how we’re still <em>deeply</em> in debt. And the same goes for you. I don’t want any of that for you either.”</p><p>His shoulders stiffen. “You don’t know what course my career is going to take,” he says, voice strained.</p><p>“It’s not easy.” You shake your head. “I’m not saying that it’s a guarantee but it’s <em>so</em> hard to run a successful and profitable restaurant—”</p><p>“But this isn’t about a hypothetical restaurant,” he breaks in, his tone taut with frustration. “This is about <em>us</em>. I like you. I knew I— I knew from the moment you made that <em>ridiculous</em> comment about me having two hands—”</p><p>You redden at the memory.</p><p>“—Believe me, you have no idea how <em>cute</em> you are. And the way you work so hard…the way you care so much about your dad and your friends… You’re incredible. I wish I could explain it, but I can’t, and I always just want to be around you for some reason. But when I can’t do that, then I want to hear your voice because just <em>talking</em> to you makes me feel so <em>happy</em>.”</p><p>“So please,” his hand settles on yours. “Please think about it. I want to make you happy, too. The way you make me happy.”</p><p>“I…” Your voice comes out scratchy and thick. He <em>does</em> make you happy. Almost ridiculously so. You almost look forward to working just to see the teasing smiles he sends your way, like you’re both in on some inside joke.</p><p>“O-okay. I’ll think about it. I’m sorry, I—”</p><p>“Please don’t say sorry,” Osamu interjects. “It’s alright. If you need time, it’s alright. I’ll wait.”</p><p> -</p><p>The rest of the night is quiet. He drives you home even though you offer to take the bus back. (He tells you not to be ridiculous).</p><p>“See you tomorrow?” he asks, leaning over the console as he pulls up to your building. You look him in the eye for the first time since the fallout on the hill.</p><p>“Friday,” you clarify softly, gaze tracing over the darkened planes of his face. It’d be so easy, you think, to just lean in. To give into your wanting and let him pull you close and kiss you breathless. And if he was being honest earlier, you know he’d go along with it. He wouldn’t even hesitate.</p><p>But you can’t. Because you’re confused and conflicted. And you can’t make him feel that way as well.</p><p>“I should go,” you say, turning away from him. From the corner of your eye you can see him pull back, clearly hurt. It tears at you too but you do your best to maintain a neutral disposition.</p><p>“Goodnight,” he says back softly as you step out of the car. “Don’t hesitate to— to reach out. If you wanna talk about it or anything. You have my number.”</p><p>“Yeah,” you nod, a hand curling around the edge of the passenger’s side door. You clear your throat. “I will…if I, uh, wanna talk about it.”</p><p>“Or anything else,” he tacks on quickly. “Really, I care about you and I— I just want whatever you want.”</p><p>You squeeze your eyes shut. “Thank you,” you say quietly. You consider apologizing again but you don’t know what good it would do for either of you.</p><p>“Goodnight, Osamu.”</p><p>You stand just past the entrance of your building for a few minutes after you watch him drive away, taillights disappearing in the dark of the night. You don’t even notice you’re shaking until you pull out your phone and try to unlock it.</p><p>The device slips out of your grasp and you kneel unsteadily to pick it up. The screen shows and array of texts from the groupchat and one from Oikawa.</p><p>
  <b>From: Tooru</b><br/>
<em>How’s your date going? ;)</em>
</p><p>It takes you a few shaky attempts to reach his contact page but when you do, you tap the call button immediately.</p><p>The line rings a few times before he picks up.</p><p>“Hello?” he breathes into the receiver, sounding slightly out of breath. “How’d it go? Did you—"</p><p>“Are you still at school?” you ask, sounding more distressed than you intend to be.</p><p>There’s a pause.</p><p>“Yeah, what’s wrong?”</p><p>“I’ll be there in half an hour,” you say.</p><p>“Alright,” he replies, almost immediately.</p><p>“I’ll unlock the pool door for you.”</p><p>-</p><p>“He kissed you?” Oikawa pops open the lid of his water bottle.</p><p>“After he confessed to me, yeah,” you say, leaning your head back against the bleachers. The pool is dark at this hour, save the bright underwater lights that cast glowing ripples along the walls.</p><p>“Didn’t you want that?” he says, wiping his arm across his mouth as he sets the bottle down next to him.</p><p>You sigh. “I did. I mean, I <em>thought</em> I did.” You breathe in a lungful of chlorine-scented air. “He’s kind, he cares about me, he looks like a freaking catalogue model, and I turn into a complete idiot around him. Obviously, there’s <em>something</em> there.”</p><p>“But you turned him down.”</p><p>“I didn’t turn him down,” you correct. “I said I’d think about it.”</p><p>“Okay,” Oikawa says. “So what do you think about it?”</p><p>You trace a bobbing lane rope with your gaze. “I think…I think I don’t want us to be like my parents.”</p><p>“You think you’re going to dump him with a kid and run back home?”</p><p>Your eyes flash to his but he doesn’t back off. “Your mom’s a shit parent,” he says plainly, as if you had missed the obvious implication before.</p><p>“She’s…” you furrow your brow. “She’s busy.”</p><p>“<em>Your dad’s</em> busy,” he emphasizes. “He runs a business and he basically raised you. When’s the last time she even called?”</p><p><em>A month ago</em>, you think. But you can’t bring yourself to say it out loud. The truth stings, even if he says it with as much kindness as he can afford on the topic. You can hear the anger in his tone; it mirrors the one you feel, but somehow can’t express.</p><p>“I don’t need her,” you say and this much is true. You don’t need her. You haven’t needed her in a while. You’d been three years younger than you are now when you’d come to terms with the fact that she wasn’t coming back.</p><p>“No,” Oikawa says, “you don’t.”</p><p>You can feel the pain prickling through, though. You don’t <em>need</em> her, but perhaps you want her. Perhaps you want her to want you. At the least, you want her to show up sometimes, even if she resents your father, even if she hates this country. Because you know that if she really wanted to see you, her only child, all of those things would be irrelevant.</p><p>“She’s horrible,” you croak out, fat tears welling in your eyes.</p><p>“Fuck her,” he nods in agreement.</p><p>“But you’re <em>not</em> her,” he says afterwards. “You’re not like your mom. And Osamu isn’t like your dad. At least, I really hope he isn’t, because that sounds like something you’d need to see someone for.”</p><p>You let out a short laugh, brushing away a tear with your sleeve. It’s only then that you realize you’re still wearing his flannel. You pull it tighter around you.</p><p>“I don’t want him to fail though,” you say quietly, looking at the small white tiles along the pool’s edge. “I don’t want him to work so hard just to fail. And I don’t— I don’t want to have to shoulder the burden of his failure as well. I know it sounds so selfish, but I’ve done it for so long and I just— I <em>can’t</em>. I don’t want to grow to resent him.”</p><p>Oikawa lets out a breath. “He’s not asking you to marry him,” he asserts gently. “He’s just asking you for a chance.”</p><p>You glance up at him, no doubt still wet-eyed and distressed. “What do you think?” you ask, leaning towards him. “Do you think I should give him a chance?”</p><p>A bit of water drips off his hair, landing soundlessly on the towel draping his shoulders. There’s something in his gaze that you can’t quite place.</p><p>“I think—” he chooses his words carefully, “—that if he makes you happy and that you think he’s a good person with good intentions then it couldn’t hurt to <em>try</em>.”</p><p>“But do <em>you</em> think he’s good for me?” you press, looking up at him.</p><p>He hesitates. “I barely know him.”</p><p>You hang your head. It’s true. Out of all of your friends, Oikawa knows him the least and even then, the others haven’t interacted with him <em>nearly</em> enough. All they have to go on are your half-coherent panic texts about him whenever you work the same shift.</p><p>“You’re smart,” he says, reaching behind his head to pull the towel over. “You wouldn’t give this guy the time of day if you time of day if he was some loser.”</p><p>You snort. “Osamu is anything but a loser.”</p><p>“Then good,” he says breezily. “Makes him a pretty rare guy already.”</p><p>You laugh. “<em>You’re</em> a guy, Tooru.”</p><p>“Yeah,” he smirks. “But I’m not a loser.”</p><p>“Thank you,” you say quietly after a moment. “I don’t know if I could’ve talked about this with Hiro or Issei.”</p><p>“Iwa-chan probably would’ve been your best bet,” he asserts, stretching his legs out. His skin glistens with beads of pool water not yet dried.</p><p>“Yeah, but Hajime…Hajime’s too <em>objective</em>,” you say wryly, a small smile playing at your lips. “You’re always on my side, Tooru. And maybe that’s not always what I need, but right now it’s what I want.”</p><p>He nods.</p><p>“I’ll always have your back,” he says, standing up. “That’ll never change.”</p><p>-</p><p>You’re unable to sleep that night, twisting and turning with your sheets rumpled and tossed to the side. The heat from earlier in the day had returned with a vengeance, making your room feel stifling hot and causing a layer of sweat to break out across your skin.</p><p>You wipe the back of your hand across your damp forehead before grabbing your phone from your nightstand. Squinting, you read the display on the screen; it’s almost 2:30 am.</p><p>Guilt and unease gnaw at you from the inside and you know it’s not going to subside. Not tonight, at least.</p><p>You decide you have nothing to lose anyway.</p><p>The line rings faintly in your hand before you muster the courage to bring it to your ear.</p><p><em>Please be sleeping</em>, you silently hope as you listen to the dial tone, much too nervous for the conversation ahead. <em>Please don’t answer</em>.</p><p>Osamu picks up on the fifth ring.</p><p>“<em>Hello</em>?”</p><p>In spite of yourself, you feel a sudden bloom of warmth in your chest.</p><p>“Hey,” you whisper into the receiver.</p><p>“Hey,” he parrots, and you can <em>hear</em> the smile in his voice. “How are you?”</p><p>You sit up in your bed, tucking your knees close to your chest.</p><p>“I’m fine,” you say shakily.</p><p>“Wait, that was lame. I-I’m sorry, I don’t know what to say.”</p><p>He laughs.</p><p>“I mean, like, I know what I <em>want</em> to say, it’s just I’m having a really hard time stringing together the words and I just don’t want to look like a complete idiot right now. Not that I’d <em>look</em> like an idiot, because I mean, we’re on the phone and you can’t see what I<em> look</em> like but—”</p><p>“Hey,” he gently stops you in the middle of your blustering. “It’s okay. Don’t worry, say whatever you feel like saying.”</p><p>You exhale.</p><p>“And as for not being able to see you—” Something clatters in the background. “—we could video call if you want?”</p><p>There’s a teasing edge to his voice but you rise to the bait anyway.</p><p>“<em>No</em>,” you yelp. “No, I look like a mess right now, really. I’m in bed and it’s super hot here so I’m sweating and it’s…it’s not cute at all so, uh, no… I can’t.”</p><p>He hums.</p><p>“I bet that’s extra cute.”</p><p>You make a noise that’s somewhere between a groan and a whimper.</p><p>“Sorry, sorry,” he chuckles. “It’s just how I feel about you.”</p><p>You nearly drop your phone on the mattress.</p><p>“That’s even <em>worse</em>,” you whine, cheeks hot as you hear him laugh through the speaker. Apparently, even knowing he feels the same way about you doesn’t make you any less embarrassing around him.</p><p>There’s a second of silence before you clear your throat to speak.</p><p>“I thought about it,” you declare softly. “And I think— I think I might’ve been wrong.”</p><p>“Oh?”</p><p>“I mean, I wasn’t wrong about liking you. Because I <em>do</em>. I <em>do</em> like you.”</p><p>Something rustles on the other end and Osamu makes a noise that sounds like a sigh.</p><p>“It makes me so happy when you say that.”</p><p>“Oh my god,” you groan, trying to stifle the fluttering in your chest. “It never ends with you.”</p><p>He hums. “I suppose it doesn’t. Maybe you’ll just have to get used to it.”</p><p>“Maybe I will,” you return, just as playfully.</p><p>“Anyway, I, uh. I think that what I said about my parents isn’t relevant. At least not when it comes to us. I think I was just worried because— because I really like you. And I don’t want to slowly lose that feeling and end up hurting you.”</p><p>He makes a thoughtful noise.</p><p>“I understand.”</p><p>“But I’m not…I mean, we’re not my parents,” you continue. “And things could end up different because history doesn’t <em>always</em> repeat itself, right? And even if things <em>aren’t</em> easy, I want to be able to work through them with you instead of just— instead of just <em>running away</em>.”</p><p>“I—” Uncharacteristically, his voice falters.</p><p>“I don’t want to run away either. Not from you.”</p><p>“So, maybe we don’t have to.”</p><p>“No,” he agrees. “Maybe we don’t.”</p><p>And then he laughs again.</p><p>“You’ve thought very far ahead though, haven’t you?”</p><p>You rub the back of your neck. “Well, you know, I just…I just wanted to be <em>certain</em> because I don’t want to waste your time and I don’t <em>think</em> you’d want to waste mine.”</p><p>“Right,” he hums. And then he sighs, sending a loud rush of air to your end.</p><p>“I don’t want to waste your time,” he reiterates. “Because I like you a lot and I want things to be serious. I want you to be my girlfriend.”</p><p>Your heart does an Olympic-level gymnastics routine in your chest. “Osamu…”</p><p>“And it’s good that we’re hashing things and that we’re being open at this point. I think that’s…I think that’s really ideal.”</p><p>You soften, shoulders relaxing as you listen.</p><p>“I wouldn’t want to keep anything from you,” he says quietly. “But I don’t think— I mean, I— I don’t want to keep this from you even though it doesn’t matter anymore, but I think you should know, anyway.”</p><p>You blink.</p><p>Wait, what? <em>What?</em></p><p>“I haven’t been completely honest with you,” he says, and just like that, the butterflies in your stomach shrivel up and drop.</p><p>You swallow.</p><p>“What do you mean?” you whisper, grip tightening on your phone as you lean further against your thighs.</p><p>“Are you already seeing someone?”</p><p>“What? <em>No</em>,” he insists. “<em>God</em>, no. I-I promise, you’re the only one I want. There’s no one else.”</p><p>You bite the inside of your cheek. “Then what is it?”</p><p>He lets out a heavy exhale. “I don’t know how to say it, I didn’t think—”</p><p>“You didn’t think?”</p><p>“I didn’t think I’d meet you.”</p><p>You try to process what he’s telling you but it’s just not clicking.</p><p>“<em>Osamu</em>,” you plead.</p><p>“I’m sorry, I—I really have no excuse. I’ve just wanted this for <em>so long</em> and I just thought—”</p><p>“Osamu,” you say again, your frustration making itself evident in your tone. “Can you please just tell mewhat it is?”</p><p>He groans. “I— I think I should tell you in person.”</p><p>“<em>What?</em>” You scowl. “You can’t just drop a bomb on me and then expect me to wait until <em>Friday</em>—”</p><p>“Not Friday,” he interjects. “Twenty-five minutes? I’ll come get you.”</p><p>You glance at the clock on your nightstand.</p><p>“It’s like <em>three am</em>,” you hiss into the receiver. “You have <em>work</em> tomorrow.”</p><p>“I know, I know,” he replies, voice tight. “I just…I don’t want to make you wait and it’s important for me to tell you this—”</p><p>“Fine,” you sigh, defeated. “Just…just get here, okay?”</p><p>“Okay,” he says quietly.</p><p>You lower your phone to hang up but you hear him say one last thing:</p><p>“I’m sorry.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>current concern: i don't want to apply to grad school...<br/><a href="https://twitter.com/Iunaryear">twitter</a> | <a href="https://stelleum.tumblr.com">tumblr</a></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. saturday (星期六)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>You shuffle out of your building, grateful for the cool night air that hits your fevered skin. You’d spent the last twenty-four minutes trying to look at least semi-presentable despite the strong possibility that you were walking out here to have your heart put in a metaphorical meat grinder.</p><p><em>But he <b>wouldn’t</b></em>, insists the part of your brain where, apparently, your optimism was stored. <em>He cares about me</em>.</p><p><em>He cares about me</em>.</p><p>Does he?</p><p>You approach the familiar car in a daze, letting yourself in without as much as a second thought. Your safety wouldn’t be an issue with Osamu (or at least, you <em>think</em> it wouldn’t be).</p><p>“Hey,” he says hoarsely, barely above a whisper.</p><p>You pull the sleeves of your hoodie over your hands. “Hey.”</p><p>“Do you wanna go somewhere?” he asks, and you can feel his eyes on you. However, you keep your gaze straight, eyes settling on a set of dumpsters at the side of the building. You can’t look at him, you don’t think you can keep it together if you do.</p><p>You swallow. “U-uh. I don’t know,” you reply quietly. “The murder documentaries always say you shouldn’t let them take you to a secondary location.”</p><p>He lets out a light snort. “You think I’d murder you?”</p><p>You lean back into the seat. Everything smells so much like him. “Well right now, I think it’s kind of hard to say.”</p><p>“I wouldn’t hurt you,” he insists jokingly, and you shoot him a sharp glance.</p><p>“Then what do you call this?”</p><p>His grip on the steering wheel tightens. “You don’t even know what I’m going to say.”</p><p>“Well, it didn’t sound like anything good on the phone,” you return, accusatorily.</p><p>He sighs. “Yeah,” he concedes. “It’s…it’s not good.”</p><p>You make a noise of exasperation. “Can you just tell me what it is? It’s really late and I—I mean I don’t have anything to do tomorrow, but <em>you</em> do, so…”</p><p>He runs a hand through his hair. From how tousled it looks, you figure he’s been doing that a lot tonight.</p><p>“I don’t want to lose you,” he begins weakly. “I—I don’t want you to hate me. But I think you will.”</p><p>You suck in a breath.</p><p>“If it’s that bad then maybe you deserve it,” you mumble.</p><p>“Maybe I do.”</p><p>“But,” you continue hesitantly. “I want to know what it is that you dragged me out to tell me. Then I’ll decide if I hate you.”</p><p>“I…I don’t know where to start.”</p><p>You huff impatiently. “The beginning is where people usually do that.”</p><p>His fingers drum a nervous beat on the steering wheel. “Okay, okay. So, the beginning...”</p><p>“My, uh, my friend from high school is a bit of an entrepreneur. Or at least an aspiring one.” he explains. “He wants to open up a restaurant in the city, serving the same kind of food as the restaurant. Your dad’s restaurant.”</p><p>You nod your head slowly, brows furrowed.</p><p>“Before…at the beginning of this year, he asked me if I’d be interested in his idea. He knows my career plans and he offered…he offered to make me a partner.” He laughs mirthlessly, running a hand through his hair again. “Can you imagine it? Owning a restaurant at <em>my </em>age?”</p><p>Again, you nod but say nothing.</p><p>“He guaranteed that it would be a success, had all these investors and a whole marketing plan that involved like influencers and social media ads and deals with local food blogs. He had everything figured out completely, except the food. He wanted it to be authentic; as authentic as possible. Like, he wanted the food to actually be <em>good</em>, you know?”</p><p>He lets out a breath. “I…I actually didn’t have that much experience beforehand. Sure, I was cooking a lot. Experimenting at home and using my friends and family as guinea pigs, but I had no training in that environment.”</p><p>“So, you needed experience,” you say slowly, frowning. The picture’s becoming a bit less blurry but you’re still not sure where he’s going with this.</p><p>“Yes. I also needed recipes. The <em>real</em> ones like…like the ones your dad knows. And all the techniques that go along with it.”</p><p>“You wanted to learn from my dad?”</p><p>“Pretty much.”</p><p>“But I don’t understand,” you shake your head. “You already told me something like that before.”</p><p>“I know. But what I <em>didn’t</em> tell you was that I intended to quit right after I was familiar with everything.”</p><p>“O-okay,” you say, still a bit lost. “That’s kind of shitty, but I don’t see how that’s <em>as</em> bad as you’re framing it to be right now—”</p><p>“The unit my friend plans on renting is one block from the restaurant.”</p><p>Your jaw twitches.</p><p>“It’s in Japantown?” Your voice grows quiet, the implication finally setting it.</p><p>He sighs. “Yeah, yeah it is.”</p><p>“Another restaurant with the same food but with better publicity and a better appearance…,” you murmur, your chest growing tighter by the second as you take it all in. “It—it would outcompete us in no time at all.”</p><p>He sucks in a breath. “That isn’t guaranteed—”</p><p>You shoot him a look.</p><p>“—but it…it would be likely, yeah…”</p><p>You sit there, frozen, mulling over your next words. You can already imagine it; the small flow of customers trickling down to almost nothing. Empty seats and empty tables with only your father in the kitchen. You probably wouldn’t be able to keep Hinata around, not that he’d be needed for much longer.  </p><p>“I… When I first started, I didn’t think you would be that opposed to it because you didn’t seem to like working there at all, but—”</p><p>“What the fuck?” you utter.</p><p>“I—"</p><p>“<em>What the fuck</em>?” you snap again, feeling a sudden wave of anger rise within you.</p><p>“I know, but—"</p><p>“<em>No</em>, because, <em>what the actual hell</em>, Osamu?” your voice rises. You’re shaking now, hands shivering as you wrap your arms around your body. “That’s my <em>family’s</em> livelihood, that’s my father’s <em>dream</em>. How dare you— How could you even <em>think</em> that I would be <em>happy</em> if it was— if we were <em>run into the ground</em> by some stupid fucking—”</p><p>“I know!” His tone is sharp. On edge.</p><p>You sink back into yourself and he notices, managing to compose himself before he continues.</p><p>“As I spent more time there, I— I <em>saw</em> the way you care, if not about the restaurant, then about your dad and I just couldn’t do it anymore because…”</p><p>His shoulders drop.</p><p>“Because I got to know you,” he says softly.</p><p>There are a few seconds of rigid silence before your anger rears its head again.</p><p>“<em>Bullshit</em>,” you spit.</p><p>“You abandoned something that was your <em>dream</em> all because you met me, some <em>stupid</em> whitewashed college girl that you can flirt and have fun with and maybe get to fuck if you’re lucky?”</p><p>“<em>No</em>,” he stresses. “No, it’s not— it was never <em>like that</em>, I <em>told</em> you. I’m serious about you—”</p><p>You let out a short, derisive laugh.</p><p>“I don’t know what your plan was for all this,” you say coldly. “You came into my life with the intention of taking away our only source of income. You came into <em>my life</em> and then you were— you were so <em>nice</em> to me and <em>flirting</em> with me and holding my hand in the dark and telling me all about your <em>stupid</em> brother and making me fall for you, but the whole time you—”</p><p>Your vision blurs as tears spring to your eyes.</p><p>You’re so stupid. You’re so <em>stupid</em>.</p><p>Of course everything was too good to be true.</p><p>But you do your best to suppress a sniffle, clenching your fists tightly; you <em>can’t</em> break down right now. Not like this and not in front of him.</p><p>“But I…I changed my mind…,” he says softly. As if it affects anything. As if it mitigates the swirling ache of anger and betrayal in your chest.</p><p>“But you <em>knew</em>,” you breathe. “You had your intentions and you <em>still</em> chose to involve yourself with me.”</p><p>You push on, adamantly ignoring the prickling of hot tears in your eyes. “How could you even <em>think</em> that it was right to do that to me, <em>whatever</em> your intentions were?”</p><p>He lets out a shaky breath. “I know. I know. It was so stupid and selfish and I— I just got so drawn in by you. But you’re right. I— I should’ve kept my distance.”</p><p>“Yeah,” you spit.</p><p>“You should’ve just stayed the fuck away from me, Osamu.”</p><p>He swallows.</p><p>“Is that it then? Is that— is that how you feel?” he says, voice frayed at the edges like torn fabric.</p><p>You let out a slow breath. It has to be. You see no resolution to this.</p><p>“Yes,” you say, your tone wobbling. “I can’t forgive you. Not for this.”</p><p>“I understand,” he says. “I don’t think I’d be able to do so either.”</p><p>You inhale, feeling yourself begin to unravel. You don’t think there’s anything left to say so you reach for the handle of the door.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” he presses. “I really, <em>really</em> am. If I could go back, I would’ve never—”</p><p>“But you can’t,” you interrupt him bluntly as the cool night breeze rushes into the car. It cuts through the stifling warmth between you.</p><p>“So just do me a favour now and<em> leave. Me. Alone.</em>”</p><p>You push yourself out of the car, closing the door behind you and starting back down the path to your building. You hear the driver’s side door open but whatever he says, you can’t hardly understand it past the pounding rush of blood in your ears.</p><p>Your tears fall freely now, rolling down your cheeks in warm rivulets as you hurry back to the entrance. Chest heaving, you push your way back inside and force yourself to walk back to your apartment without looking back.</p><p>By the time you stumble past your doorstep, you’re still shaking, your hands clenching and unclenching as you make your way back to your room.</p><p>Slowly, you shut the door and turn to sit at the end of your bed. You let yourself stay like this for a while, hands at your sides as tear after tear gathers at your chin. You can’t believe you’d let yourself be deceived like this; taken for a fool when you should’ve known he was too good to be true. But you’d have never been able to see <em>this</em> coming, especially not when he’d seemed so earnest about it all.</p><p>A fearful thought crosses your mind; without you, there’s nothing to stop him from leaving now. Nothing to stop him from getting in on his friend’s business and, consequently, destroying yours. The weight of this realization sits on your ribcage like an anvil, making it even hard to breathe than it had been a minute ago.</p><p>“<em>Oh god</em>,” you whisper, anxiety coursing throughout your system.</p><p>You and your father were going to lose everything.</p><p>-</p><p>“You and your father are <em>not</em> going to lose everything,” Oikawa proudly announces as Hanamaki slams down two drinks on the table: large brown sugar milk teas with tapioca.</p><p>“Uh,” you furrow your brow, confused. “Okay and how do you know that?”</p><p>“A top secret, reliable source,” Matsukawa pipes up from beside you, stabbing through the plastic seal of his own drink with a straw.</p><p>“Tooru’s sister knows the landlord of that building,” Iwaizumi reveals, rolling his eyes. “The unit was just leased out to some Korean couple. They’re opening a bookstore.”</p><p>“<em>Wow</em>,” Oikawa pouts after a sip of his own drink: winter melon milk tea with grass jelly. “Way to ruin the fun, Iwa-chan.”</p><p>“What fun?” he sneers. “I think she’d want some solid proof that the restaurant’s gonna be fine. It’s her job <em>and</em> her dad’s on the line.”</p><p>Matsukawa leans back in his seat. “Well, we would’ve told her <em>eventually</em>. Plus don’t you feel better now?”</p><p>Everyone turns to you.</p><p>You blink. “Well, I— I <em>suppose</em> I do,” you say, tugging on the plastic wrap of your straw. “I <em>am</em> kind of curious to know what happened though…”</p><p>Oikawa shakes his head adamantly. “You’re not talking to him.”</p><p>“But—”</p><p>“I have to agree with him on this one,” Iwaizumi says, setting down his phone beside him. It’s an old thing; probably an iPhone 5 from high school.</p><p>“You already know he’s bad news.”</p><p>You huff. “Yeah, but. Maybe I should’ve stayed that night, you know? Asked more questions, tried to figure out his plan…”</p><p>“Yeah, why didn’t you just hook up with him that night too?” Hanamaki inserts and you and Iwaizumi give him a Look.</p><p>“To be fair, though,” the light brunet continues. “You literally haven’t stopped talking about him since that night. It’s been like two weeks and we know you’re ignoring him at work and all, but when he’s not around it’s always ‘<em>Osamu did this</em>’ or ‘<em>Osamu looked at me weird today</em>’.”</p><p>“He <em>did</em> look at me weird on Wednesday!” you insist, aggressively mixing your drink with your straw.</p><p>“Yeah, of <em>course</em> he looked at you weird,” he scoffs. “You both tore out each other’s hearts at 3 am in a parking lot outside your building. I think that’s <em>gotta</em> have <em>some</em> effect on the way he sees you.”</p><p>“Yeah, but… C’mon, I have to see him like <em>four times a week</em>, of course stuff’s gonna happen that I want to rant about.”</p><p>“Unpopular opinion but why don’t you guys just talk it out,” Matsukawa pipes up. “I mean, he said he wasn’t going through with it and now we <em>know</em> he’s not going through with it so what’s the problem?”</p><p>“What do you mean ‘<em>what’s the problem</em>’?” you say indignantly. “He tried to screw my dad over!”</p><p>“Yeah, but he didn’t,” he asserts, as if he’d just spouted some sort of great wisdom.</p><p>You snort. “Yeah, how <em>noble</em> of him to not put us out of business, all because he wanted some pussy.”</p><p>“How <em>vulgar</em>,” Hanamaki chides. “Plus, aren’t you a virgin—?”</p><p>You flick your balled up straw wrapper at him and manage to nail him right between the eyes.</p><p>“Get out of my business,” you say primly.</p><p>He picks the plastic projectile off his lap. “I’m not <em>in</em> your business,” he smirks.</p><p>“Like I was saying before, no one’s <em>been</em> in your quote-unquote business, but I sure know you want Osamu to—"</p><p>“<em>Shut up</em>,” Iwaizumi snaps before you can.</p><p>“I’m just saying,” Matsukawa shrugs. “This doesn’t seem like something you <em>can’t</em> get over. Because now he doesn’t get his restaurant and you don’t get a boyfriend. Everyone loses.”</p><p>“How logical of you,” you say dryly. “He’s still an asshole though.”</p><p>“Yeah,” he concedes with a nod. “It was a pretty asshole thing to do. But at least you know he has a conscience now or whatever. If he only wanted to bang you, he probably wouldn’t have hesitated to go back to his friend once you told him to fuck off.”</p><p>You frown. “I…I don’t know… It’s not like he’s trying to make up with me at work or anything, he’s steered pretty clear…”</p><p>“Respectful king,” Hanamaki nods solemnly.</p><p>You give him another Look.</p><p>“So maybe he’s pretending to be a decent guy now,” you propose. “Y’know, trying to get back on my good side.”</p><p>“I mean,” Iwaizumi says. “He <em>does</em> really like you.”</p><p>You make a face.</p><p>“I know.”</p><p>Taking a long sip of your drink, you weigh your options, chewing on a ball of tapioca.</p><p>“Okay, what if I just talked to him to get closure?”</p><p>Oikawa lets out a snort. “<em>‘Getting closure’ </em>is like…the most bullshit excuse people give when they just want to talk to their ex. It’s not gonna help you move on, you’re just giving them more of your time that they don’t deserve.”</p><p>“Thanks, Dr. Phil,” you sigh.</p><p>“No problem.”</p><p>“God, I wish I had more female friends sometimes,” you mumble, adjusting your straw moodily.</p><p>“What, like her?” Matsukawa says and you look up in confusion.</p><p>Standing in line at the register and waving at you like a maniac is Sakaguchi Kana, her designer purse swinging perilously on her arm as she does.</p><p>“Oh my god,” you utter. “Oh my god, why me…”</p><p>“Is she a friend?” Oikawa inquires. But before you can answer, Hanamaki makes an excited noise.</p><p>“Hey, I know her!” he says, waving back like the absolute shithead he is. “I follow her on Instagram.”</p><p>Iwaizumi frowns. “Oh, so isn’t that—?”</p><p>“Yup,” you say, forcing a grin and waving back as she approaches your table.</p><p>“Kana-san,” you stand to greet her, ignoring the weird glances you get from the rest of the table when you use the honorific.</p><p>She giggles. “You don’t have to call me that. It’s such a nice surprise to run into you, though!”</p><p>“It’s nice to see you too,” you say, your brain scrambling to come up with what to say next.</p><p>There’s a beat of silence before you register that you two aren’t the only people in the immediate area right now.</p><p>“Oh yeah!” you exclaim, quickly changing gear. “These are my friends, uh. Guys, this is Kana, she’s Osamu’s friend from high school and she helped out the restaurant a bit with promo.”</p><p>They each introduce themselves, with Hanamaki looking a bit too gleeful when he shakes her hand.</p><p>“It’s nice to meet you all,” she says graciously, perfect blonde curls bouncing as she gives them each a nod. She’s wearing a sundress today and a lot less jewelry, save a simple necklace and, of course, her engagement ring. You hope Hanamaki’s noticed that particular piece.</p><p>“Would it be alright if I borrowed your friend here for a moment?” she asks, giving them all a sunny smile.</p><p>“Take her,” Matsukawa shrugs. “God knows we don’t want her.”</p><p>You nod and Matsukawa narrowly avoids a slap across the head as you pass by him. Kana doesn’t lead you far; just to the area where the drink orders are sent out. You note the receipt in her hand.</p><p>“You know,” she says, leaning against the counter. “I’ve been by the restaurant again a couple of times, but I always seem to miss you. I’m starting to think ‘Samu tells me to come in on days that you’re not there…”</p><p>You raise a brow. You hadn’t heard that Kana had been back but then again, you weren’t talking to Osamu and your dad was not the conversational type.</p><p>“I didn’t know you’d been back either,” you say sincerely. “Sorry I missed you all those times.”</p><p>She grins. “It’s not your fault. ‘Samu’s probably just worried I’ll steal you away from him.”</p><p>You’re a bit stunned by this. “U-uh,” you stammer. “I mean, he and I…we…”</p><p>“Yeah, yeah,” she waves her hand. “You guys aren’t dating. Not yet, at least.”</p><p>“<em>So</em>,” she begins, stepping just a bit closer to you. You catch a whiff of her perfume, something clean and slightly floral. “Are you coming to the wedding? It’s next January.”</p><p>You blink. “H-huh?”</p><p>You don’t know where this is coming from. Sure, you know she’s getting <em>married</em>, but there was no way that a simple acquaintance such as yourself could <em>possibly</em> be expected to be invited. Especially considering who she was.</p><p>“You’re Osamu’s plus one, right? I said he should take you and he said he’d ask.”</p><p>You’re at a loss for words. “Um,” you utter intelligently.</p><p>The corners of her mouth tug down. “Don’t tell me he didn’t ask you.”</p><p>“Well, we, uh…,” you begin sheepishly. “It’s been kinda <em>weird</em> between us recently, so…”</p><p>She makes a thoughtful noise.</p><p>“But do you wanna come?” she asks, folding a corner of her receipt. “It’s going to be at a vineyard like an hour out of the city. It’s actually my fiancé’s vineyard,” she explains with a soft smile. You think it’s kind of cute how she seems to soften up just at the mention of him.</p><p>“I’ll talk to Osamu about it,” you say finally, with absolutely no intention of talking to Osamu about it.</p><p>Her smile widens to a grin. “Yes! Tell him to RSVP soon! And maybe if you’re both free we can do a double date night with my fiancé—”</p><p>“Number 87?” the ponytailed teenager behind the counter asks, placing a tall, honey coloured drink on the counter.</p><p>“That’s me,” she smiles at him and you think you witness him short-circuit. Part of you is in awe, but the other part is still processing the whole ‘double date’ thing; especially since you and Osamu were as good as strangers now.</p><p>“Uh, I don’t know if he’ll really want to do something like that with me,” you say awkwardly, watching as she pulls a metal straw out of a carrying case from her purse.</p><p>She snorts. “You can’t see how bad he has it for you? Although he’s been kinda moody these last couple of weeks. Did you guys have a fight or something?”</p><p>You bite the inside of your cheek. If he didn’t tell her then maybe you shouldn’t either. It couldn’t hurt to <em>not</em> involve her in your personal drama.</p><p>“Nope,” you say lightly. “Just a small disagreement. We’ll probably talk it out soon.” You even give her a reassuring smile to sell it, although you’re not sure if it’s coming out more like a grimace.</p><p>Thankfully, she buys it because she grins back at you, pleased.</p><p>“Awesome,” she gushes. “I really hope you guys work it out. I haven’t seen him this happy in a while.”</p><p>Her words cause a familiar ache to pang in your chest. You swallow.</p><p>“Oh! Well,” she glances at her phone. “I gotta go, my gyno appointment is in like half an hour!”</p><p>Your jaw drops.</p><p>“Oh, uh— W-well I…,” you stammer as you try to process what you’ve just heard.</p><p>“I’m sure I’ll see you soon,” she promises, seemingly oblivious to your shock.</p><p>“Y-yeah,” you manage to say as she pulls you in for the most awkward hug of your life, her arm held out so she doesn’t spill her drink all over you.</p><p>“Keep in touch!” she says brightly before beginning to walk away.</p><p>“Yeah,” you call out after her. “And, uh… good luck?”</p><p>She gives you one last, blinding influencer grin before striding out of the shop and into the early afternoon sun.</p><p>“What’d she say?” Matsukawa asks when you get back, straw between his lips.</p><p>“She has a gyno appointment today,” you say, still a bit stunned by the conversation as a whole.</p><p>“Pap smear?” Hanamaki chimes in. “Sexy.”</p><p>“Oh my god, Hiro.”</p><p>“What? Regular health checkups are a good life practice and I think that’s sexy.”</p><p>“When’s the last time you got a physical?” Matsukawa questions.</p><p>He shrugs. “Like ten months ago. Why? You trying to give me one right now?”</p><p>The whole table sans Hanamaki groans.</p><p>“I hate it here,” Iwaizumi grumbles.</p><p>“Did she say anything else?” Oikawa asks, prodding at the remains of grass jelly in his cup.</p><p>“She wants me to go to her wedding,” you sigh, “as Osamu’s plus one.”</p><p>He snorts. “Is she insensitive or just unaware?”</p><p>“The latter,” you answer. “She’s a nice person. She…she doesn’t really have a filter, I guess, but she’s nice. Good intentions and all that.”</p><p>“She really told you she had a gyno appointment? Like out of nowhere?” Matsukawa asks.</p><p>“Yeah, she did,” you say, still a little stuck on that detail.</p><p>“And you barely know this girl?”</p><p>You nod.</p><p>“That’s funny as fuck,” he snorts.</p><p>“I don’t know what you guys’ verdict is,” he says, leaning back in his seat, “But I, for one, really like her.”</p><p>-</p><p>It’s a week and a half later when you finally have to face the inevitable.</p><p>“Did something happen?” your dad asks when he emerges from the kitchen, half an hour after closing.</p><p>You try to play dumb.</p><p>“What do you mean?” You tap an icon on the POS system screen and the cash drawer pops open.</p><p>“Osamu-kun just put in his two-weeks notice,” he says in Japanese, leaning down behind the counter to grab a cup.</p><p>You glance at the curtain separating the kitchen and the dining area. “Oh, did he?” You’re trying to force yourself to sound nonchalant, but your dad isn’t buying it.</p><p>“Did you two get in an argument?”</p><p>You purse your lips.</p><p>“Something like that.”</p><p>Much to your surprise, he laughs.</p><p>“And here I thought it was because he was leaving to work somewhere else.”</p><p>Your eyes flash to your father, who’s now filling his cup with boiling water. You hear someone turn on the sink in the back.</p><p>“He told you?”</p><p>He hums. “I wanted to know why he was leaving so soon. He’s a good employee.”</p><p>“And how much did he tell you?” you frown, turning back to the stacks of cash you have yet to count.</p><p>“Everything,” your dad says simply.</p><p>“Everything? And you didn’t tell him to get out right then and there?”</p><p>He sets the cup down. “No, I insisted that he stay.”</p><p>You click your tongue. While your dad wasn’t the best at foresight or planning, you didn’t think he was downright <em>naïve</em>.</p><p>“You <em>wanted</em> him to keep stealing from you?”</p><p>He chuckles. “It might take months to learn a few recipes by heart, but it takes <em>years</em> to be a confident and skilled cook.”</p><p>You don’t get it at all, but you still feel <em>somewhat</em> relieved.</p><p>“So, is he, uh. Is he staying?” you try to ask casually, pressing a few keys to begin the cash-out process.</p><p>“Why don’t you ask him?” he replies, simply.</p><p>“<em>Otosan</em>,” you complain, thumbing through a stack of twenties.</p><p>He laughs again. “He looks like he really wants to talk to you. He keeps staring at the pickup window during shift like a kicked puppy.”</p><p>“So maybe you should’ve fired him for being distracted on the job,” you mutter, stabbing the screen with your finger.</p><p>There are a few seconds of silence again before he speaks.</p><p>“Your mother called. She says she can’t reach you.”</p><p>“Yeah,” you say, jotting down the balance from today on a notepad. “I blocked her number a couple of weeks ago. Didn’t think she’d notice for a while.”</p><p>It had been a spontaneous decision, but one that you didn’t find yourself regretting all too much in the end. You had figured that nothing she could possibly say to you would be worthwhile.</p><p>“She wants you to come visit her in the winter. Says she’s going to buy you tickets to Japan.”</p><p>Your pen stills over the paper. “Not interested.”</p><p>“She’s your mother.”</p><p>“That’s just by chance,” you say, offhandedly, refusing to give in to the sudden bloom of anger in your chest. It feels like an old wound reopened each time and you know that reacting only furthers the hurt.</p><p>“Besides, I can’t go,” you continue, gathering a bunch of quarters in your hand. “I have plans. I’m going to a wedding in January.”</p><p>“Oh?” You hear him lift the cup off the table. “Okay, that’s fine then. I’m sure she’ll understand.”</p><p>You make a noise of acknowledgement. He begins to walk away but after some quick deliberation, you turn around and call after him.</p><p>“Hey, dad,” you start hesitantly, and he looks back at you. “Thanks,” you say. “I know you work really hard and…and that I’m not always the easiest to parent but, um, thank you.”</p><p>You take a deep breath before you continue.</p><p>“And I know that business has been better lately, but…but I was never doubting your <em>cooking</em>, I was just worried about the money a-and how we were going to—”</p><p>“It’s alright,” he says, perhaps a bit awkwardly. “I understand, but— but I’m the adult,” he says. “I’ll take care of things.”</p><p>“And,” he continues, just as stiffly, “you’re good. You’re— you’re a good kid.”</p><p>You soften, smiling as you turn back to the register.</p><p>“Thanks, dad.”</p><p>You finish up the cash out process without any more commotion, but near the end you feel the familiar prickle of eyes on your back.</p><p>Apprehension rises within you and you exhale.</p><p>“Can I help you?” you snap without turning around. You don’t mean for your tone to be so cutting, but restraint is hardly at the forefront of your mind with Osamu right there.</p><p>“You’re going to the wedding?” he asks, voice growing nearer as he approaches you from behind.</p><p>You suck your teeth.</p><p>“That’s what you want to talk about after all this time?” you ask, incredulous.</p><p>He sighs and leans against the counter. “I couldn’t think of another in. Plus, it’s <em>my</em> friends’ wedding and I didn’t know you and Kana had become best friends overnight.”</p><p>You stare at the stack of receipts in your hand. “Of course we are,” you mutter. “She tells me about her gyno appointments.”</p><p>“Her <em>what</em> appointments?”</p><p>“Gyno? You know like…gynecologist?” you say flatly. “The kind of doctor that looks at your vagi—”</p><p>“<em>Okay</em>,” he interrupts, flustered. “I got it, I got it.”</p><p>You let out a deep exhale. “She told me you were going to ask me to be her plus one. Which was news to me, considering…”</p><p>He drums his fingers on the countertop. “Yeah, well, I figured I couldn’t exactly bring it up when you told me to leave you alone.”</p><p>“And yet here you are,” you muse, “not leaving me alone.”</p><p>You reach behind your head to pull your ponytail loose, but you pause when you notice him still looking at you.</p><p>“Staring,” you point out, irate.</p><p>“Admiring,” he corrects, softly.</p><p>He smiles and you resent the fluttering in your chest that arises as a result of it. You should hate him. You should be glad that he’s potentially leaving you and the restaurant forever, but you can’t bring yourself to be— not when he still makes you feel like <em>this</em>.</p><p>“Do you still want me to leave you alone?” he asks, earnestly.</p><p>You swallow thickly. “I-I don’t know.”</p><p>You decide to be honest in your answer, even if it gives him an opening. Even if it makes you vulnerable.</p><p>“Let me give you a ride home,” he offers, gently.</p><p>You glance at the set of keys in his hand. You think it’s pathetic how quick you crumble, succumbing to your residual feelings like nothing had ever happened.  But that’s the effect he has on you. That’s the effect he’s <em>always</em> had on you and you were a fool to think it could be any other way.</p><p>You think back to Matsukawa’s advice and you figure it’s worth a shot.</p><p>“Fine,” you relent, your eyes cast downward.</p><p>“Let’s go.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>current concern: i am always sleeping or thinking about sleep.....<br/><a href="https://twitter.com/Iunaryear">twitter</a> | <a href="https://fluoresence.tumblr.com">tumblr</a></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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